Faith, Trust, and a Dog or Four
by UnabashedBird
Summary: Sam adopts a dog since, as Jody keeps telling him, he's allowed to have nice things. Somehow, thanks in part to the large dog impressing on Dean the need for an attitude adjustment, this leads to a bunker occupied by two humans, four dogs, an ex-angel, and an ex-demon. And when Charlie, Dorothy, and a surprise guest return from Oz just in time for Christmas, the fun really begins.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was written for the Sam Winchester Big Bang over on Tumblr. There is some incredible artwork that goes with it, which was done by the fantastic carpecaseum (also on Tumblr), who spoiled me rotten by making more art than she had to, all of it perfect. The story is also on AO3, with the artwork, under the same title, or you can find it under the "my writing" tab on my tumblr-I'm quakerhobbit.

A million thanks to my beta, Chloe, who provided the perfect combination of constructive criticism and fangirly encouragement.

This fic works as a standalone, but there are things that will make more sense/have more of an emotional impact if you read "Lost Boy" and "Boy, Lost" first.

This story was born out of my need for 1) Sam to have a dog, 2) Dean to stop being a jackass and apologize for past jackassery, 3) Sam to have friends, 4) Meg to not be dead, and 5) Jess to come back and her and Sam to live happily ever after. If anyone enjoys reading it even half as much as I enjoyed writing it, I will be thrilled to pieces. On the other hand, if any of that sounds unappealing enough to you that you think you're going to feel the need to leave me a comment telling me why I'm wrong, this might not be the fic for you.

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><p>"You wouldn't happen to be a dog person, would ya?" Jody asked, pretending like she didn't already know the answer. She'd known ever since she'd seen the way Sam was the time he accompanied Alex while she took some of the local shelter dogs for a walk.<p>

"Uh, I guess. Why?" Jody could picture the puzzled look on Sam's face.

"Well, it's kind of a long story, but I've ended up with a dog on my hands who really needs a home."

That might have been stretching the truth a little. She could've let the giant mutt go to the shelter, and in this town, a big scary-looking dog like her might've actually had a better shot at a home than most. But it was easy to see what a softy the dog was, and she'd had a hard time of it, and then there was the other thing.

"Uh, Jody, I'd love to, but we're on the road all the time and I don't think that would be good for a dog. Besides, Dean—"

"Sam, honey, I'm gonna stop you right there. What did we talk about?" She kept her voice gentle, but firm. It took effort: she still got angry every time she remembered what Dean did, what was going on right under her nose and she couldn't see it because Sam was so used to hiding his hurt, to stowing his baggage and getting the job done and taking care of everyone else before he took care of himself. But Sam had turned up at her door, unannounced, a total wreck, saying he didn't know where else to go. She brought him inside and made him tea and the whole thing spilled out: the Trials and their consequences and how Dean chose to deal with them, the Mark and all that came with it, Dean's death, Dean a demon, having to hunt his own brother except it wasn't his brother except, worst of all, it _was_, and Sam knew he _knew_ Dean would want Sam to cure him or kill him trying so that's what Sam did. Cas, who turned up half-dead and without his grace and, apparently, human for keeps this time, found a spell to get rid of the Mark, and that had been almost as bad as the demon cure, which was horrible. And Dean was human and himself again and looked at Sam and the first words out of his mouth were "What took you so damn long?" and Sam fled. Fled because after everything, everything, he still wasn't good enough, still nothing more than a too-imperfect tool for his brother's purposes, and he couldn't be that, not anymore.

Jody had listened in shock and horror, and she hadn't stopped the tears that welled up and spilled down her cheeks in sympathy, and when Sam was finished recounting what happened she reached out, slowly, making it his choice, and pulled him into a hug. He had _collapsed_ against her, sobbing, and she stroked his hair and whispered "I've got you, I've got you" over and over, because that was the only thing she could say that she knew was true. And when the tears slowed and Sam's breathing settled, and he looked embarrassed and started to apologize, she stopped him, told him he had nothing to apologize for, that he was stronger than anyone should ever have to be for coping alone for as long as he had, that he was right to be angry at Dean, and amazing for staying by his side and amazing for setting boundaries and amazing for saving Dean and amazing for leaving. She told him he could stay as long as he needed, as long as he wanted. She told him she would do everything in her power to make him safe.

She had waited until she was sure Sam was asleep, and then she made a phone call. She hadn't yelled; she hadn't needed to. What she did was quietly explain to Dean that if he ever expected her to allow him near Sam again, he had better get the world's best apology ready, and he better not try any tricks, because she wasn't just a hunter, she was law enforcement, and she would use every skill from both sets to make sure Sam was safe from what Dean had been putting him through. She decided that she liked Castiel when he asked whether she thought he, too, had overlooked the need to apologize. Jody thought about what, according to Sam, was Cas' idea of comforting words, about Sam mentioning that Cas had wanted him to call Dean when it was all fresh and raw, to initiate working with Dean again, and told the angel—or whatever he was now—that yes, he definitely did.

They showed up two days later. In the meantime, Jody had been having a lot of long conversations with Sam about what he did and didn't deserve, about how he didn't owe Dean an apology for any of what had happened, certainly not for taking off. It was all pretty messy and overwrought and it took Dean three tries before what he said wasn't all about him and his feelings, and it almost came to blows the fourth time Jody made Dean start over from the beginning, because though his words were starting to be the right ones, she could tell he didn't mean it yet, was just doing what he thought he had to do, and she wasn't going to allow it. Sam recognized the danger signals and put himself between Dean and Jody and, stumbling over his words, not quite meeting his brother's eyes, told Dean that this wasn't just Jody, that he couldn't be around Dean until he knew that Dean really understood what he'd done and why it was wrong and was sorry. That's when the sincerity happened, because Dean looked lost, asked Sam to please tell him, because he honestly didn't get it. And even though he shouldn't have had to, even though it was hard, Sam did. He made Dean understand that he wasn't angry about being alive, he was angry that he had been possessed and used to hurt others, and that the person he was supposed to trust most ("stone number one, remember?") made it possible, tricked him and lied to him and then acted like he was at fault for being angry about it. He was angry and hurt that Dean behaved as though treating Sam like a person was conditional on Sam acting like Dean thought he should. He was hurt that Dean didn't listen to his concerns about the Mark, when he knew better than anyone the dangers of trying to use something evil to accomplish something good. Hurt but not surprised, because lately Dean only remembered the things Sam had been through when Dean needed to throw them in Sam's face.

So Dean had finally apologized, as had Cas, and Jody made sure Dean knew that she would be calling Sam nearly every day, to talk, to be there, and to remind him that he was Dean's equal. She still wasn't entirely comfortable, watching the three leave together, but it was a start. A new stone number one. Maybe.

That was a month ago, and it sounded like things were going OK, like what the brothers were slowly re-building was good for both of them for the first time in years. This would test it, Jody knew, but she was convinced that it was right. If anyone should have a dog, if anyone should have _this_ dog, it was Sam Winchester.

There's a short silence on the other end. "Sam?" she prompted, "What do we keep talking about?"

"That . . . that I have the right to want things. And to have them, sometimes, even when Dean doesn't agree."

"Exactly. So get your butt out here and meet this dog, see if the two of you get along."

" . . . OK."

. . .

As much as he didn't want to, Sam decided that, in the long run, it would be better to be honest with Dean from the start about this.

"I'm going to Jody's. She has a dog she wants me to look at."

"'Look at?' What the hell does that mean?"

"It means the dog needs a home, and Jody thinks we should take her."

"No."

"It's not your decision."

"Yeah, but it's not yours either."

"Dean—"

"I think it would be nice to have a dog."

They both turned to stare at Cas.

"Yeah, well—" Dean started.

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "This is Cas' home, too, right? Which means he has a say in this, right?" It was a gamble, and it could go very, very badly, but Sam was betting on Dean's good intentions towards Cas winning out: they _both_ kept telling Cas over and over that they wanted him here, that he was part of the team. Time to force Dean to consider whether he really meant what he said.

Dean glared daggers at Sam, but then: "Fine," he spat. "Go see the dog. But understand this: I'm not lifting a finger to take care of the thing, and you're gonna make sure it doesn't stink up my car. Which you are not using for puppy pick-up."

"Fair enough," Sam said, and left, unable to suppress a grin. He was probably getting a dog.

. . .

She was perfect. A huge mix of who knew what combination of large breeds, the kind of dog people tended to approach with caution if they approached at all. She was grey, a darker shade on her back, sides, and head, lighter on her stomach and parts of her legs, with floppy ears that were small compared to the size of her blocky head. Sam folded himself slowly onto the floor and held out his hand for her to smell. She took a cursory sniff and then dropped as much of herself as would fit into his lap. Her thick, rough-looking fur was surprisingly soft. As Sam scratched her ears with one hand and rubbed her belly with the other, it occurred to him, for the first time in years, that being as tall as he was wasn't always such a bad thing; he and this dog were matched in size.

"What's her name?"

"Doesn't have one. The jackass who owned her last just called her 'girl,' if he was in what passed for a good mood."

"Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we sweetheart?" Sam said to the dog. "So, what happened to him?" he asked, looking up at Jody.

"Vengeful spirit," Jody told him matter-of-factly. He raised his eyebrows. "It was pretty bad. He was an asshole, but no one deserves to go like that. Thing is, it happened right before I got there, but I could hear her barking like mad when I pulled up, and him yelling at her. Then I heard her snarling and lunging, but a dog can't fight a ghost, and by the time I got inside it was too late."

"So . . . you think she knew there was a spirit?"

"I know she did. I was curious, so I took her with me on the rest of the hunt—it's not unprecedented, using a murder victim's pet to help ID a killer, so I used my capacity as sheriff to pretend like that's what I was doing. Not really pretending, either. Anyway, when I tracked down the thing the spirit was attached to, she started growling before I could tell it had showed up. Seems to me your kind of hunting just might be in her blood somehow."

"Huh. Well, that might help bring Dean around, anyway. You said the owner was a jackass. Did he do more than just yell at her?"

"Don't know for sure, but it wouldn't surprise me."

Sam grimaced. "What about the normal stuff? Her age? Has she had her shots? Has she been spayed? Any health concerns?"

"Well, I took the liberty of taking her to the vet. They said she's about five years old, spayed, vaccinated, and healthy. I'm guessing the jerk wanted a guard dog and was smart enough to know that those need to be healthy. I've got papers with all the info on them that you can take with you."

"And what about . . . I mean the bunker might be home base, but we're on the road all the time. Is that really good for a dog, all that time in the car, do you think?"

"Can't be any worse for her than it is for you, and you seem to do OK." Sam smiled ruefully at that.

"So what do you think? Do you have yourself a dog?" As if the answer wasn't obvious.

Sam grinned. "Yeah, I guess I do."

. . .

"I thought you said it was a _dog_, not a mutated wolf," were the first words out of Dean's mouth when Sam led the bunker's newest resident down the stairs.

Sam made a face, choosing not to dignify that with a verbal response.

"No, she's definitely a dog," Cas told him, very seriously, as he approached, crouching down and holding his hand out for her to sniff.

"And when did you become an expert?" Dean groused, though there was genuine curiosity in his voice.

The dog waved her tail back and forth, just a little, and Cas began fondling her ears. Sam sat down next to her and scratched his fingers up and down her spine—he'd already discovered how much she liked that. The waving of her tail increased to a definite wag.

"Angels can see what God's creatures are, just by looking, even without grace. I couldn't tell you what bloodlines this dog comes from, but her . . . you don't have a word for it in English. Animals don't have souls in the same way that humans do, but they have something that's soul-like, and it's more on the surface of what they are than human souls, which makes it visible. Hers is dog, not wolf, and certainly not mutated," Cas informed them.

"'God's creatures'?" Sam asked. "Is that why shifters and things like that can still fool you? Because they're Eve's?"

"Yes."

"Huh," Sam and Dean chorused.

"Learn something new every day," Dean added in that not-quite-flippant tone he reserved for things he wasn't entirely sure how to process. "So," he added after a moment, when it became apparent that Sam and Cas were perfectly content to pet the dog in silence, "does it have a name?"

"She," Sam and Cas corrected at the same time.

"Right. Because _that's_ the thing to keep straight here."

Sam realized that, if he didn't say something now, Dean would only build on the passive-aggressive foundation he was laying in his behavior towards the dog.

"Dude, _lay off_. I know you're not really a dog person, but you don't get to take it out on her. Or me," Sam added after a moment's hesitation, picturing Jody, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Cas and I want her here. Like I already said, you don't have to help take care of her, I'll make sure she doesn't go in your room—"

"Or the kitchen!" Dean interrupted.

"OK, or the kitchen. I bought seat protectors for the car, so she literally won't touch the inside—"

"_If_ we ever have to take her anywhere in it, which we will be avoiding at all costs."

Sam found himself in a (lately) familiar battle with years of this-is-how-to-get-along-with-Dean instinct: he could capitulate and let this slide, it probably wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of things . . . Fuck. That was _exactly_ the kind of thinking that contributed to things getting as bad as they had. No, that wasn't quite right (the correction came in Jody's voice): Dean acting like this, insisting on his way in all the little things, making it so fucking _exhausting_ to fight every single one, so when it came to the big stuff Sam was too drained, was the kind of thing that contributed to things getting as bad as they had. They'd talked about it enough that Sam knew Dean didn't do it on a conscious level, but that didn't make it any less awful. _Fuck_.

The dog growled.

At Dean.

She had turned her head so she was looking _straight at him_, and _growled_.

The three men froze.

"Uh, what the hell was that?" Dean asked, eyes locked on the dog, sounding mostly angry but also a little . . . apprehensive.

She growled again, a deep rumble Sam could feel resonating inside her. "Easy, girl," he murmured, resting his hand on her back. She turned her head and licked his cheek, as if to reassure him, then went back to staring—glaring?—at Dean.

Cas pivoted so he was sitting on the dog's other side and looking up at Dean. "Dogs have very keen senses. It can make them receptive to the emotions of the humans around them. Perhaps she has detected that Sam is upset with your behavior, and wishes you to stop antagonizing him," he told him.

"What makes you think Sam is 'upset with my behavior'," Dean snapped, using scare quotes to demonstrate just how ridiculous he considered that statement.

The dog growled, low and loud and long.

"You were being unnecessarily argumentative and dismissive," Cas said matter-of-factly. "It's a habit of yours. Sam sometimes finds it amusing and endearing, but most of the time it is annoying at best and upsetting at worst. I am inclined to agree with this assessment."

Sam blinked. When had Cas gotten so . . . observant? And perceptive?

Dean, apparently, didn't agree. "Cas, man, just 'cause you lost your mojo for good this time doesn't mean you're friggin' Oprah."

"I don't understand that reference."

"I thought Metatron downloaded a pop culture update straight to your melon."

"Stories," Cas corrected. "He gave me complete knowledge of every story he had read, heard, or seen in his time on Earth. Oprah, apparently, was not included. I take it this person is not fictional?"

"No, Cas, Oprah is not fictional," Dean told him in exasperation.

"Back off, Dean," Sam broke in. "It's not his fault he didn't know. And anyway . . . " he took a deep breath, rallying himself. Wasn't this supposed to be getting easier? "He was right. One hundred percent."

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"You heard me."

"You know, I swear I don't even know what we're—"

"_Do not finish that sentence_," Sam interrupted, voice low and intense and accompanied by another rumbling growl from the dog.

Dean finally seemed to realize how serious the conversation had gotten.

"O—K," he said slowly, and, after a moment's hesitation, sat down on the floor.

"What, uh, what d'you want from me here?" Dean asked.

"Well, for starters, I want to see if you can figure out where and how this conversation went wrong," Sam told him. He didn't expect Dean to remember that a version of the sentence he had put a stop to, _I don't even know what we're fighting about_, was one of the last things Dad said to him. It had taken Sam a long time to let himself admit it, but he'd known for years that it was manipulative bullshit, and he wasn't going to take it from Dean. (Anymore.) He was going to pull Dean back from being that. (More than Dean already was.)

"OK, sure," Dean said. "You came in with the dog, we determined that it—sorry, _she_" he amended when Sam shot him a look,"—is in fact a dog and learned our weird angel factoid for the day. I asked what her name was, but failed to use the word her, which was, according to you and Cas, an oversight on my part, because you started—huh. Was that it? Me calling the dog an 'it' when I asked what her name was?"

"Right in one. You're improving." Dean glared, but Sam wasn't sorry.

"C'mon Sam, she's just a dog, it's not like it's gonna bother _her_," Dean said.

"That's not the point."

Dean was looking at him expectantly, but Sam was tired of spoon-feeding him. "Care to elaborate?" Dean finally asked.

"I want you to figure it out."

"C'mon, man, just tell me, because I seriously don't know! You're like a chick or somethin', expecting me to be a mind reader."

The dog was growling again.

"I don't think she appreciates the misogyny, Dean," Sam told him smugly, then added, "And just because I don't go back and forth between total emotional constipation and vomiting my feelings all over everyone doesn't mean I don't express myself. Not my fault if you're not paying attention."

"OK, first of all, do not ever, _ever_, let me hear you use the phrase 'emotional constipation' again. Seriously, I should confiscate your man card right—"

The dog wasn't just growling, she was _snarling_.

"What is a man card?" Cas asked, since Dean had snapped his mouth shut and was in the process of scooting backwards across the floor, away from the dog.

"A sexist metaphor," Sam informed him.

"So . . . losing it would not, in fact, be a bad thing?"

"Not really, no."

"And the two of you wonder why I have so much difficulty understanding humans," Cas said, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

"Can we only have one fight at a time?" Dean called from half way across the room.

"Can you be less of a jackass?" Sam shot back.

"Dude, I am what I am."

"Right. 'Cause that's worked so well for everyone."

"Shut up."

"_No_."

Dean started to get to his feet—Sam was kind of amazed it had taken him this long to bail—but the dog, slow and steady and very, very menacing, walked over and, in a move that was almost casual, knocked him back to the ground before he could finish standing, then sat down next to him. He stared at her, eyes wide and scared.

"This dog is a menace," Dean told Sam.

Sam honestly didn't know what to make of the dog's behavior: surely this level of canine intuition, this early in their relationship, wasn't normal. Still, use what you have while you have it, right?

"Yeah, to your skewed perception of how things work around here."

"Sam, I don't—I mean—I thought you said I was doing better, or whatever. I thought we were good."

"Define 'good,' Dean."

"You know. You and me. Cas now, too, I guess. Saving people, hunting things. The family business."

"And when you picture it, what does that look like?"

"I don't know! Like—like you and me in my baby, talking shop or just listening to music. Us and the open road."

"What music?"

"C'mon, what does this have to do with—"

"What music, Dean."

"Classic rock. Maybe some of the newer stuff. Always something that rocks, though."

"Who's driving?"

"Me."

"So, to you, us being good is sitting in the car that you always refer to as yours instead of ours, with you driving, while we listen to your music. And you don't see how that's a problem?"

"Hey, wait a minute. I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds . . . I don't know, but it's not like how saying it that way makes it sound."

"Isn't it?" Cas broke in.

"Stay out of this, Cas," Dean snapped.

"Why? I'm the closest thing you have to an objective third party. I realize that my way of seeing the world is . . . askew, by human standards. It's why it took me so long to realize there was something amiss in your relationship. You see, all angels are siblings—though more after the manner of a religious order than a nuclear family—but some command, and others follow, and that is right because of what we are . . . what I was. So it was not odd to me to see two brothers, one commanding, the other following. But that is not how human siblings are meant to function. It is not right—what is the phrase? oh, of course—it is not right for the driver to always pick the music and the shotgun to always shut his cake hole. Not for humans, and especially not for you."

Sam and Dean were staring at him.

"What?" he asked, sounding somewhat curious but mostly irritated.

"Metatron read Chuck's books?" Sam asked, though on reflection he supposed it made sense. First Crowley, now Metatron. He didn't care how impossible Charlie claimed it was, he _would_ find a way to erase those damn things from the face of the planet.

"Apparently," Cas replied.

"Enormous ick factor aside, isn't that kind of not the point? I mean, Cas, you've . . . you've got it all wrong, man," Dean said.

"Explain," Cas replied.

"What?"

"Explain in what way I have it all wrong. Explain in what way, despite the fact that your words and actions were heavily influenced by the Mark of Cain at the time, you were not speaking the truth when you told Sam that your relationship was a dictatorship. Or, if that is too much, tell me when the last time was that Sam drove the Impala when you were present, yet neither injured nor in need of sleep, and without having to ask to do so."

"I . . . I don't know. But, I mean, it's not like he _minds_, do you Sammy?"

"Actually, Dean, yeah. I do mind. I spent a lot of years telling myself I didn't, but look where that got me: an angel riding shotgun and a demon for a brother."

"Whoa whoa whoa. How does who _drives the car_ have anything to do with that crap?"

"Because the big things can't happen without all the little things happening first. You deciding you had the right to violate me and lie to me about it in a big way happened because you had, literally and figuratively, been in the driver's seat for years. I stopped fighting you on it because it was too hard, too exhausting. I thought if I saved my energy for the big stuff that I could at least win those, but I was wrong."

"OK, let's say I . . . let's say you're right. What about this last month. I mean, has there been anything good about it, or has it all been, I don't know, faking it until we make it or something?"

"I don't know, Dean. I mean, you've handed over the keys every time I ask to drive, and that's a step. You didn't straight up turn off my music, and you kept your bitch-fits quiet enough that they didn't drown it out, so that's a step. You use the occasional vegetable when it's your turn to cook. You only fought me on it for five minutes when I said I didn't want to watch a western the other night. You haven't been going rogue on cases, at least as far as I know. They're all good steps, Dean. It's just . . . they're really small, slow ones, you know? And I can't help but wonder whether you'd be taking them at all if you didn't have the wrath of Jody hanging over your head."

It was quiet. Sam decided that it would probably be best to let it all sink in, let Dean process at his own pace. That's what had produced the best results in the past. So he stood up, grabbed the dog supplies he'd deposited in the doorway, and whistled for her to come with him, which she did without hesitation.

. . .

Things were quiet for the rest of the day. Sam had bought two dog beds: one to go in his room and one in the library. He put the food and water dishes in the library, with another water dish in his room. He took the dog for a run, because they could both use the exercise; she hadn't seemed to mind hanging out in the bathroom while he showered, and he suspected that, even though it was only the first day, she would have stayed right outside the door waiting for him if he'd left her loose.

Dean made chicken stir-fry for dinner, heavy on the vegetables. They didn't talk while they ate, but that was OK with Sam. The dog didn't even try to beg for table scraps.

Sam retired to his room early, taking one of the _Oz_ books with him and reading himself to sleep.

He dreamed of Kevin, of Kevin's eyes burning out beneath his hands, but then they weren't eyes and they weren't beneath his hands and the flames were above him and he was watching Jess die and what was that whimpering sound? He hadn't whimpered, he had screamed, and Jess had been silent, but someone or something was whimpering and there was something wet on his face that wasn't blood or tears and that's when his eyes shot open and he reacted on instinct, sitting up and jerking away from the wet thing shoved against his cheek, only to discover that it was the dog, who looked at him with canine concern from where she sat by his bed.

He took a deep, steadying breath and patted the bed next to him. She eagerly jumped up and immediately put as much of herself as she could in his lap.

He rubbed her ears, feeling himself calm much faster than he usually did after a nightmare. "And here I thought I was the one who was looking after _you_," he told her softly. She thumped her tail against the bed and rolled onto her side so he could rub her belly.

Sam huffed a laugh and shifted her slightly so he could lay back down, then gave her the belly rub she was begging for with pleading eyes. "You know," he murmured sleepily, "you're really too big for this whole sleeping on the bed thing." His last coherent thought as he drifted back to sleep was that it was a good thing he'd let Dean talk him into getting a better mattress.

. . .

Sam was shocked to discover that it was 7 a.m. when he next woke: he was used to fitful, nightmare-riddled sleep, of which he gave up the pretense around 5:30 when he got up for his morning run. He wondered whether the dog, who had draped herself on top of him some time during the night, was somehow the reason for his abruptly altered quality of sleep.

He rolled the still-sleeping dog off him and got up. When he got back from the bathroom and began to change into his running clothes, he saw her eying him suspiciously from where she had curled herself into a surprisingly small ball after Sam's shove had disrupted her sleep.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you not a morning person?" he asked, smiling. She wagged her tail, just at the tip, at the attention. "Hate to break it to you, gorgeous, but, most days, this is when I run. And if we're going to keep you healthy, that means you come with. So come on!" he finished, slapping his thigh and adding as much enthusiasm to his voice as he could.

The dog stood up, stretched, and then stared at him with a martyred expression. He called her again, laughing, and she, very slowly, climbed down from the bed and made her way to his side. "You're as bad as Dean," he told her, clipping on her leash.

The sky was cloudless and already bright blue, promising another hot summer day, the kind that made him grateful for the bunker's cool interior. Sam spent the run trying to think of a suitable name for the dog, something that encompassed the way she was big and strong and protective but also sweet and cuddly and, apparently, a little lazy, at least in the morning. By the time he'd finished his shower and was in the process of getting dressed, he had almost decided on Helga, as in Hufflepuff, but it wasn't quite right, somehow.

As he was transferring Jess' thimble from the pocket of his running shorts to the jeans he was wearing that day, thinking wistfully about how Jess had been really invested in him someday getting a giant rescue dog, the perfect name hit him. "Nana," he said aloud. She looked up from her reclaimed position on his bed and thumped her tail enthusiastically. Nana, the dog from _Peter Pan_, who had been big and loyal and done her best to care for the children in her charge while still showing when she felt put-upon. And the obscure connection to Jess gave him a bittersweet feeling of being watched over. Cared for. He knew it was nonsense, that Jess was safe in heaven and blissfully unaware of the train wreck his life had become after she died, but he still liked the idea of a connection between this sweet, protective dog and the sweet, protective woman he once thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

. . .

"_Nana_?" Dean asked incredulously, putting down his coffee cup. "Come on, Sam, big fierce-looking bitch like that—" Dean smirked, clearly waiting for Sam to appreciate his literal use of the word, but Sam rolled his eyes and glared, waiting for Dean to finish while he poured himself his own cup of coffee. "—and you want to call her _Nana_?"

"First of all," Sam said irritably, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove, "only females who aren't spayed are bitches, so you misused that word in every possible way just now. Second, yes, that's her name, and I know this isn't going to make it more appealing to you, but it's a _Peter Pan_ reference, OK?" Sam leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to boil, and sipped his coffee.

"Oh, so not only is it a squishy cuddly feel-good name, but now it's a reference to a fairy tale."

"_Peter Pan_ isn't a fairy tale. I mean, it is, but it's not actually that old, and it was a play and then a novel and then multiple movie adaptations. And Nana was always big and fierce in her own way. And she's already responding to the name, so it stays. Besides, you never said that you approving her name was a condition of her being here or anything, so you can just suck it up."

Dean looked slightly taken aback, but all he said was "Nerd," gulped down the last of his coffee, put the mug in the sink, and left, giving Nana a wide berth. Sam was pleasantly surprised. Sure, it had only been a day, but Dean was, apparently, listening, at least for now. "Maybe I should've named you Fairy Godmother," he joked to Nana, who was sitting patiently by the door to the kitchen/dining room area. Her previous owner might have been an asshole, but Sam was discovering that he'd trained her well: he'd told her to "stay" at the door before he stepped into the kitchen, since she wasn't allowed in, and that's exactly what she'd done.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam kept Nana with him more or less constantly, and within a few days he was pretty sure she understood where she was and was not allowed in the bunker: he didn't have to tell her to stay for her to just wait by the door while he was in the kitchen, and she followed him everywhere else without being called.

He spent his days in the library, going through everything, figuring out what was there, and occasionally fulfilling requests for research from the small number of hunters he was on good terms with. He left it to Dean to find them new hunts, since Dean was the one who, despite all his talk about nesting when they first found the bunker two years ago, would get restless with an itch to hit the road. Now that they had a permanent residence with a garage, Dean had started buying junkers and flipping them for a profit, so when he wasn't trawling for a case, he could usually be found working in the garage or sprawled on a couch with Netflix. Beer was involved in both scenarios, but Sam was pretty sure that, overall, Dean was drinking less, which could only be a good thing.

Cas traded off helping Sam in the library and Dean in the garage. Well, Sam wasn't sure how much help Cas actually was with the cars, but he always came back in almost as sweaty and greasy as Dean, so he was definitely doing something. Sam taught Cas to surf the Internet and bookmarked some reliable news sites for him, so every once in a while Cas took a break from both brothers and ensconced himself in a corner with the tablet they'd bought him, or sometimes a book.

Jody still called most evenings to check in, and Sam usually ended up chatting with Alex, too. She was adjusting well to a mostly normal life, and when Sam mentioned her resilience to Jody, he could practically hear Jody's raised eyebrows when she told him Alex wasn't the only one.

Nana continued to interrupt Dean with growls if he got to be too much of an ass, but he figured out pretty quickly what kinds of things to try to avoid. Old habits still died incredibly hard, and Sam thought the slow changes were more about avoiding Nana's wrath than an actual belief in the problem, but he'd take it.

Most nights, after Jody's call, they'd all watch a movie. Cas admitted that actually seeing them was "indeed a superior experience to having them just sitting in my brain with no real context." Cas was often interested in Dean's wannabe-film-buff knowledge about many of the movies they watched but, being Cas, he was extremely gullible when it came to pop culture, and Sam often had to interfere when Dean's trolling went too far. On the other hand, sometimes he joined in. Sam was hesitant to indulge the feeling, but he had to admit that it was almost like being brothers again. Really brothers.

Sam continued to take Nana on his morning jogs as both of their main source of exercise, and Nana continued to be a martyr about it, especially since she slept on the bed every night and took the loss of Sam's warmth very personally when he got up every morning. He was sleeping better than he had in years and no longer got up earlier than 7. He liked drinking coffee out of pleasure rather than necessity.

About two weeks after Sam brought Nana to the bunker, Dean found a hunt, so they headed for Arizona and what was probably a vengeful spirit.

Jody had been right about Nana being their kind of hunter, and they had been right about it being a vengeful spirit. Dean's wanderlust was, apparently, not yet satisfied, because after they finished up they headed for Michigan and a poltergeist, Colorado and a vampire nest, and then demon activity in New York City.

Dean didn't say anything about Nana sleeping on Sam's bed in the motels. Cas, however, being Cas, had asked about it as they pulled away from the motel after the first night, when they'd stopped in Albuquerque on their way to Camp Verde, Arizona.

"I don't mind, and I sleep better with her like that. Better than I have in years, actually, " Sam told him succinctly.

"You mean since before I broke your wall."

The mood in the Impala was suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Well, I mean, yeah, there's that. But it's not like I didn't have plenty to keep me up even without the hell memories," Sam answered slowly, gripping the steering wheel. Nana whined.

"But it is mostly the hell memories," Cas pressed, apparently oblivious to the tension he had caused.

A wave of frustration washed over Sam. Why was Cas pushing this? What gave him the right? Sam knew he was sorry about what he'd done, Dean had told him about Cas' apology. But that was just it, wasn't it: Cas had told _Dean_ that he was sorry for what he did to Sam, but never Sam himself. Sam usually tried to be patient with Cas: he liked the guy, Cas was their friend, and it would be a little much to expect him to overcome thousands of years of angelic habits and programming after a few short years with them, especially since _Dean_ was the one he'd latched onto as his model for human behavior. But apparently what Jody kept telling Sam about standing up for himself and taking less crap from Dean and Cas was starting to stick, because he'd reached his tolerance threshold on this particular subject.

"Actually, Cas, the nightmares are pretty evenly split between watching people I love die and all the times other people have done things to and with my body or soul without my consent. And I'd say I've got plenty of those to choose from even without hell, wouldn't you?" he snapped.

"You're upset," was Cas' response, after a brief pause. Sam supposed he should give him credit for figuring out the question was rhetorical without any help, but he wasn't in a particularly giving mood just then.

"Yeah, Cas, I guess I am," Sam replied shortly. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Cas waiting expectantly for Sam to elaborate, but Sam wanted to see if Cas' growing observational skills would help him figure it out on his own.

"You don't like me bringing up that I broke your wall. I suppose that would fall into the category of people doing things to your body against your will. I . . . Sam, you know I feel terrible about doing so, don't you? You know that I am sorry?"

Sam sighed, feeling the tension and anger drain away. Staying mad at a friend, especially when it was Cas, was more effort than it was worth. "I knew you were sorry, but that's the first time you've actually said so to my face. To me, not to Dean. And don't get me wrong, I understand why you did it, and why he was the one you apologized to: it was never about hurting me, it was about distracting Dean so you could do what you thought you had to. Hell, I probably get that better than pretty much anyone. It's just . . . thanks for finally saying it to me."

"You're welcome. Does this mean that we are . . . good?"

"Yeah, Cas, we're good. And none too soon: I think all this emotional honesty is about to give Dean an aneurism," Sam said, making sure Cas could see his teasing smile.

"Shut up, you big—" Dean hesitated, turning to glance at Nana. She had her head up and her ears pricked and was staring right back. "—overly emotional person," he finished, modifying his insult at the last second so that it lost all bite.

Sam's smile broadened into a grin as he told Dean to go ahead and pick the music: he liked to reward the little improvements, and he'd only been partially joking about Dean's level of discomfort with the conversation he'd just witnessed.

. . .

Sam and Dean shared the driving pretty equally, and Cas even took a few turns. Dean had initially been skeptical about the seat covers in the back for Nana, and at first he complained that, even if she wasn't shedding on or scratching up the backseat, he could still smell her; but he griped less with each hunt as she proved her ability to both detect the supernatural before they could and help people relax during interrogations and interviews.

Cas, despite the rocky start with his questions about Sam's nightmares, was improving as well, and it was clear he liked being part of a team. Sam asked him about it when Dean was on a food run in Michigan.

"I may not be an angel anymore, but I still . . . my personality is more or less the same. Angels are not meant to be solitary creatures. We are meant to be part of a group or team, to have the structure and community that comes with that. It still gets lonely here," Cas said, tapping his temple, "with no, uh, angel radio. I hope to grow accustomed to the silence, with time. But this, hunting with you and Dean and Nana, it feels right. We work together towards a common goal, we inform one another of our movements and activities. We're a unit. I know you were never one for the soldier metaphor, so I apologize if the comparison makes you uncomfortable."

Sam shook his head. "Cas, lots of groups besides soldiers describe themselves as units or teams, and anyway, a soldier is what you were hardwired to be, so I can't exactly hold it against you if that's the setting that makes you most comfortable and the language you slip into most easily. So," he continued after a pause, "you miss the telepathy thing, huh? I mean, it was kind of like a hive mind, right? So I guess it makes sense that getting cut off from it would feel strange at best."

"Hive mind. Yes, I suppose that would be an accurate description. I believe it is like . . . how familiar are you with what is referred to as the classic series of _Doctor Who_?"

Sam grinned. "Not very. It's on my list, but I was kinda waiting until Charlie comes back—I figured she'd enjoy educating me."

"Ah. Yes. That sort of thing is her passion, correct?"

"If by that you mean, is she the loudest and proudest nerd we've ever met, and possibly on the face of the planet, then yeah."

"The word 'nerd' confuses me. Dean uses it as an insult, you describe Charlie as wearing it as a badge of honor, and it seems to be used for a variety of disparate purposes within the various stories Metatron uploaded to my brain," Cas said, tilting his head to the side in perplexity.

"Whether it's an insult or a compliment depends entirely on context, so I can see why you would be confused. But as for Dean using it as an insult, every once in a while I like to remind him that my nerdy research skills make our job a lot easier, which generally shuts him up, at least for a while. That help?"

"Yes. Perhaps. Human culture is complex."

"Yeah, you're not wrong. So, what was the _Doctor Who_ connection?"

"What? Oh, yes. Just that the Doctor's people, the Time Lords, had a hive mind. It seems to have been portrayed as something always present and available, but only actively used when done deliberately. I believe that, in the, uh, new series, the Doctor said he was sure all his people were dead because he couldn't sense any of them telepathically. I apologize: that may have been considered a spoiler," Cas concluded.

"No worries," Sam assured him.

Dean walked in just then and deposited the food on the table. "Healthy crap for Sam, real food for me, some of each for Cas," he announced. "What've you nerds been up to?"

Sam and Cas smirked at each other.

In New York, Sam decided to take Cas to see _Wicked_: he was able to get upper mezzanine seats since, thanks to it being a week night, the show wasn't sold out. Dean was clearly preparing to have an absolute field day of mockery, but then he glanced at Nana and apparently thought better of it.

Cas enjoyed himself immensely, but Sam found it hard to engage in the enthusiastic conversation Cas initiated as they drove back to the motel, to the point that Cas noticed.

"Sam, is something wrong? Was it not as good as you remember? You did say you had seen this musical before, did you not?"

Crap. Sam wasn't sure he wanted to talk to Cas about this; he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to anyone about this. But he supposed he owed Cas some sort of explanation. "No, it's not that. It's just . . . when I saw it, I was at Stanford. Back when I thought I was out, when I thought I was building a normal life. Seeing it again . . . I guess it kinda takes me back. Plus, uh, I connected with Elphaba pretty intensely this time around. You know, the whole freak thing. So it's all a lot to process. I'm really glad you enjoyed it though, so I'm sorry I'm not so good for conversation right now." It was the truth; just not all of the truth. Because the only other time he'd seen _Wicked_ had been with Jess. He'd gotten tickets for when the show was in LA in the summer of 2005, because Jess loved the book and had loved the pre-Broadway production she'd seen in San Francisco even more, and after she'd dragged him to _Les Mis_ he'd had to admit that yeah, OK, musical theater was a lot more awesome than he'd been led to believe. So he'd seen it with Jess, and she'd been the one enthusiastically rehashing and dissecting it afterwards and, _god_, he should've realized doing this would bring the pain of missing her to the surface. But he didn't want to talk to Cas about Jess. Not now, maybe not ever. He took one hand off the steering wheel and slipped it into his pocket, gripping the thimble.

"Oh. I see. That's perfectly understandable. Perhaps we could discuss it later, when you are more composed?" Cas asked.

Sam smiled wanly. "Yeah, Cas. Sounds good."

They were silent for the rest of the drive; Sam concentrated on pulling himself together: he didn't want to have any version of this conversation with Dean just then.

Fortunately, there was an amusing distraction to help him along when they got back: Dean was trying to teach Nana tricks. "What? I got bored waiting for you nerds. It doesn't mean I like her."

"Sure it doesn't," Sam said, unable to suppress a grin. "Just like it definitely doesn't mean that you're trying to ingratiate yourself with her so she'll have a higher tolerance for some of your crap."

"Shut up."

. . .

They struck a balance Sam enjoyed over the next couple of months: a week or two in the bunker, followed by a week or two on the road doing a job or two before going back . . . home. They took a side trip for a concert after a minor pagan god, another for a Jayhawks game after a werewolf (who they ended up taking to Garth and his family instead of killing; Sam still couldn't quite believe he was able to talk Dean into it).

Dean accepted Nana as a useful member of their team after she knocked him out of the line of fire of a revenant that liked to throw knives. It was hard not to anthropomorphize Nana's professionalism: she was always on her best behavior on hunts, obeying commands from all three of them with alacrity to the point that Dean was comfortable taking her with him if they had to split up and Sam was taking the safe research or interviews. Cas was getting better and better at being human, Dean's hard edges were softening, and Sam was beginning to feel as close to safe as it was possible to feel while still doing the job.

Sam had, tentatively given a few of his hunting contacts permission to pass on to other hunters that he had access to extensive resources and was willing to help with research if needed, and he actually got the occasional call from people outside his own small circle. He'd found documentation that helped a husband and wife identify a death omen and the vengeful spirit against whom she warned in Montana, and assisted three sisters in New Jersey who were pretty new to hunting with figuring out what they were after—a bolla—and how to kill it. And of course, there was always more organizing to do, more discovering of the Men of Letters' vast resources. Sam found himself wishing that he had more help, because, beyond identification and organization of the information, copies should be made in order to safeguard it, including digital copies; he even had vague daydreams of creating a database for hunters, a one-stop shop for research and information sharing. But he was just one person—well, sometimes two if he counted Cas—and there was only so much he could do.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean, Cas, Sam, and Nana were hiking out of the woods in a national forest in Oregon after hunting what turned out to be the, or possibly a, Erlking (Sam was pretty sure he'd seen a file in the bunker saying it was a species, rather than a single creature). It was nearing Halloween, so Dean was munching on a bag of candy and trying, yet again, to convince Sam of the holiday's merits when Nana suddenly veered off the trail and headed into the undergrowth. Sam followed immediately, Dean and Cas at his heels.

She didn't go far: they found her flat on her belly, her head stuck deep under a bush. "Nana?" Sam asked. "What is it, girl?"

She backed slowly out of the bush, dragging something in her mouth. Something that whimpered. Sam immediately dropped into a crouch, reaching out a hand, and the dirty, bedraggled dog Nana had found, which had been shaking with fear, caromed into his chest.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Dean said, as Sam cuddled the dog close and shifted it slightly so he could carry it—her, he noticed—more easily, buttoning his jacket over her trembling, malnourished form. Nana gave Dean a warning glare. Cas, without being asked, passed Sam the packet of beef jerky he had in his pocket, and, after first dribbling the contents of his water bottle into her mouth, Sam began to carefully feed it to the dog in small chunks.

"You're not keeping it," Dean informed Sam as they headed back to the trail.

"We'll see," was all Sam said in response. He was starting to have déjà vu: the dog looked like a smaller, possibly immature, malnourished version of Riot, and although the condition she was in wasn't his fault like it had been with Riot, still, here he was carrying a dog in need of immediate care in the midst of what felt like a turning point in his life.

"'We'll see'?! What the hell does that mean, 'we'll see'? You have one dog, and one is all I agreed to. We'll drop this one off at the vet or whatever and it'll be somebody else's problem."

"We'll see," Sam repeated.

"Cas, back me up here," Dean snapped.

"Why?" Cas asked. "We do not yet know if this dog was abandoned or simply lost. We do not even know if it will survive. What we do know is that Nana found it, and given her thus far impeccable instincts, I would consider that significant. We also know that the dog needs the care of a professional, which is presumably where we are going. Any further argument, when these are the only facts we have, seems to me to be fruitless at this point."

Dean turned to stare at Cas. "I gotta start remembering that you side with Sam on the dog thing," he grumbled. He continued grousing to himself under his breath for the duration of the hike, but he also drove them straight to the clinic Sam directed him to without taking his complaints any further.

The vet got right to work, and before too long was able to tell them that there were no injuries, just malnutrition and a bad flea infestation. Sure enough, the dog was an Australian shepherd, female, about six months old and therefore probably intact. The vet wanted to keep her overnight but was confident in her recovery, and promised to check and see whether a dog meeting her description had been reported lost.

"You still can't keep i—her," Dean told Sam when they got back to the motel.

"Why not?" Sam asked, going to the fridge to grab them all beers.

"One, because one dog is plenty. Two, she's an unproven puppy; at least Nana came with character references. Three, on the subject of her being a puppy, doesn't that mean she'll be a lot more of a handful just because of her age, no matter what her personality ends up being? And four, one dog is plenty." Dean sat down on his bed and took a triumphant swallow of the beer Sam handed him.

Sam sat down on his own bed, across from Dean. "One, Nana's so easy she barely counts, and if she can keep _you_ in line, I doubt she'd have trouble making sure another dog follows the rules. Two, since she's a puppy, she can be trained. Australian shepherds are smart, and they love having a job to do, so between me and Nana I'm sure we can get her to behave in ways you approve of. Three, yeah, she'd need more time and attention than Nana does, but last time I checked I was an autonomous adult with the right to use my time the way I see fit. Four, repeating your first point with no modifications doesn't actually strengthen your argument. Five, she might be some family's missing pet and they'll be overjoyed to have her back. And six, like Cas said, I don't think we should just ignore the fact that Nana found her if it does turn out that she needs a home."

Dean opened his mouth. "I am in agreement with Sam," Cas interjected from where he was sitting at the table.

"Of course you are," Dean said, and downed the rest of his beer.

Nana padded over to him and nudged his hands with her nose. "What d'you want?" Dean grumbled. Sam and Cas watched curiously as Nana wagged her tail and gazed soulfully at Dean. "Nana, are you giving me actual, literal puppy dog eyes?" Dean asked with something between exasperation and admiration.

She put her face in his lap, wagging her tail slowly but steadily.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but the only puppy eyes that work on me are Sam's," he said, putting down the empty beer bottle and scratching her ears. Sam caught Cas' eye and shook his head slightly: if he was having to stop himself from making a snarky comment, it was a good bet that Cas was about to make a genuine one.

"Look, it's like they said," Dean went on, "there's no point making a decision tonight: she might be somebody's missing pet. I mean, good work rescuing her and all that, but in case you haven't noticed, we don't bring people home just 'cause we save them, so I don't see why it should be any different with dogs. You're, uh, you're on our team, so you gotta play by our rules, see? Shut up!" he shot that last comment at Sam, who was half-heartedly trying to hide his triumphant snickering behind his hand, and Cas, who was openly smirking.

"Let me guess," Sam said, "this still doesn't mean you like her, and it still doesn't mean we can keep the puppy?"

"Exactly."

"The way you use the word 'like,' Dean, I do not think it means what you think it means," Cas chimed in.

Sam and Dean stared at each other, then at Cas.

"What? Did I not use that reference correctly?"

"No, Cas," Sam said, recovering, "you used it _perfectly_. Congratulations: _Princess Bride_ references are as sure a sign of growing cultural competency as I know. And it's on a short list of movies that are actually good that Dean can't make fun of you about, because even he can't deny that it's both iconic and probably the most quotable movie ever made."

Cas looked at Dean, head tilted in query.

"Just 'cause he's right doesn't mean he isn't a pain in the ass," Dean said.

Sam grinned and went to get cleaned up.

. . .

The puppy, it turned out, had not been reported missing by anyone in the area or anyone who had visited, and the vet assured Sam that the poor thing had been in the woods long enough that if someone was missing her, they would have put the word out.

"Well?" Sam asked, turning to Dean.

"Goddammit," Dean said, and stormed out to wait in the car with Cas and Nana.

"That's as close to yes as he's able to get," Sam told the confused-looking vet.

"Ah. In that case, I'll have the receptionist get the paperwork ready."

Not long after, Sam was settled in the back seat of the Impala with the puppy in his lap.

"Dean—"

"Please don't."

"Why not?"

"Because if you don't then I might be able to convince myself that I didn't actually agree to this."

"Good luck with that."

"I can still change my mind."

Nana growled. The puppy shoved her head under Sam's arm and attempted to burrow.

"You were saying?" Sam tried to keep the smugness out of his voice.

They had reached a red light, and Dean mimed bashing his head against the steering wheel.

"D'you . . . d'you maybe want some input on her name?" Sam asked after several hours of nothing but Dean's rock albums.

Dean perked up.

"We're not naming her 'Bitch,'" Sam cut in before Dean could open his mouth. Dean made a face at him in the rearview mirror.

"You used to appreciate my hilarity," he muttered.

"Define 'appreciate'."

"Whatever. Guess my humor's too sophisticated for you, college boy."

"'Sophisticated.' I do not think it means what you think it means," Cas cut in, looking very pleased with himself.

Dean locked eyes with Sam in the rearview mirror. "You tell him!" Dean mouthed.

"No, you!" Sam mouthed back.

Wordlessly, Dean extended his fist between the seats where Sam could see it, and Sam reached his out so Dean could easily glance at it and have no reason to cry foul. Dean's scissors lost to Sam's rock.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Yeah, uh, we're glad you're starting to get pop culture references, but, uh, don't overdo it, OK?"

"I don't understand."

"Well, you made the exact same joke last night, so it's like, too soon to make it again and have it really work."

"But you constantly repeat jokes, and you are always amused when you do so."

"That . . . that's not . . . Sam, help me out here!"

"Dude, he totally has you there. But Cas, Dean probably isn't someone you want to use as an example of a good sense of humor, because his never matured past, like, age 13. It's just that most people don't repeat the exact same joke or humorous reference too often; otherwise it loses its charm."

"Oh. I see. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. I ought to have found a different way to mock Dean's misuse of the word 'sophisticated'."

"Yes. Exactly."

"No, not exactly! The grammar police are never funny!"

"There are law enforcement officers for grammar?"

"No, Cas, it's an expression!"

"Signifying what?"

"Annoying people who insist everyone speak and write in proper English or some crap like that."

"But Dean, I was not referring to a grammatical error, I was referring to you using a word in a manner inconsistent with its definition."

"Potato potahto Cas."

"Why are you mispronouncing a root vegetable? Is that relevant?"

"You know what? I give up. Never mind. Just . . . just never mind."

Sam was covering his mouth while his shoulders shook with laughter. If he hadn't been worried about hurting Cas' feelings, he wouldn't have bothered trying to conceal his mirth at all. The puppy picked up on his mood and began to enthusiastically lick his face, giving him an excuse to laugh aloud, and distracting Dean and Cas from their argument.

"Gross," was Dean's response.

"Licking is a canine sign of affection. I find it sweet," said Cas, in a tone that hinted that he might be trying to start another argument. Sam thought that was best avoided, and pulled the puppy gently but firmly away from his face and pinned her to his torso with one arm while rubbing her ears with the other hand. Soon she relaxed and he was able to loosen his grip and lower her into his lap.

"So, back to the original question, Dean, do you have any realistic suggestions for what we might name her?" he asked.

"Hmm. What about Jane?"

"Isn't that a Jefferson Starship song?"

"Yep." Dean was smirking at him in the rearview mirror.

"You hate Jefferson Starship."

"Yep."

"Is there any scenario where you aren't a total ass about this?"

"I let you keep her, didn't I?"

"So that's a no."

"Pretty much."

"I'll wait another day or two so her personality can emerge, but I think I might call her Tinkerbell," Sam said after a brief silence.

"Dude, _no_."

"Hey, if you have a better suggestion, I'm all ears." It was Sam's turn to smirk: this was almost too easy.

"Luanne. We could call her Lulu."

"Luanne . . . that's a Foreigner song, right?"

"Right."

"Huh." Sam looked at the puppy, who was willing to sit still for the moment as long as he kept petting her. "What d'you think little one? Are you a Lulu?" She looked up at him with her mismatched eyes and wagged her tail, but he suspected it was more to do with the attention than any particular providence of the name. Still. "Yeah, that might just work."

. . .

That night, when Sam was doing his usual sneak routine to get Nana, and now Lulu, into the motel room, he learned two things. One, stealth was not something Lulu did automatically. Two, Nana was a natural pack leader: she'd curbed Lulu's noisy enthusiasm with one light cuff of her paw.

Lulu didn't wait for permission to join Sam on the bed, and even though he had every intention of letting her sleep there with him and Nana, it was time to start teaching her the rules, so he returned her to the floor with a firm "Off." She immediately jumped back up, so Sam repeated the process, this time keeping his hands on her to hold her to the floor for a moment before slowly letting go. She cocked her head and stared at him in confusion, whining softly. He made her wait just a moment more, then patted the bed. "OK!"

She responded with the enthusiasm of, well, a six-month-old Australian shepherd that had been stuck in a car for most of the day. She jumped up on the bed, launched herself at Sam's face for a little enthusiastic licking, then jumped off and began sprinting around the motel room, jumping on and off all the beds, caroming off Dean and Cas' legs, and narrowly avoiding crashing into walls and other obstacles as she zoomed around corners. Sam was laughing, Cas was smiling, and Dean had taken refuge in one of the chairs with his legs drawn up, but Sam recognized the smile tugging at the corners of Dean's scowl.

After a few minutes, Sam called Lulu over and worked on calming her down. This was easier said than done until Nana, clearly ready for bed, knocked Lulu over, at which point she subsided.

Despite spending so much of it in the car, all the day's new experiences had clearly tired Lulu out, because after that she settled in for the night and fell asleep quickly, curled up between Sam and Nana.

Lulu, Sam discovered the next day, was very much a morning person. The second he showed signs of wakefulness, she was licking his face and wagging her tail and generally demonstrating how happy she was to see him. Nana watched these antics out of half-open, disapproving eyes.

"Well good morning to you, too," Sam whispered, getting up and changing into his running clothes, trying to decide the best exercise strategy now that there were two dogs. Although his plan was to eventually take them both with him, Lulu wasn't ready for the full run yet: despite her energy, she was still recovering from her time in the woods and shouldn't be worked too hard. "Nana, it's your lucky day," he told the older dog, who curled up so she was facing away from him. "You get a bit of a lie-in, but don't think you've gotten out of it; we'll be back before you know it," he told her, clipping on the new leash he'd bought for Lulu during their long lunch stop the day before.

He took Lulu on a loop that only took about ten minutes, made sure she did her business, then took Nana, grumbling as always, out for the full run. When they got back, it was to find Dean with a pillow over his head, attempting to fend Lulu off while Cas made coffee and pretended not to hear Dean's incoherent pleas for help.

"Lulu, off," Sam said firmly. She jumped down and pranced over to him, and he petted and praised her. "Good girl! What a good girl you are, yes you are!"

"No, she is _not_," Dean sniped, emerging from behind his pillow to reveal a spectacular bed head and a grumpy expression.

"Dude, did you even try telling her to get off? Clearly and coherently and in a way that she could understand?"

"Maybe not in as many words, but—"

"But nothing. She's a puppy. Commands have to be clear, simple, consistent, and rewarded. You can't expect her to act the way you want if you don't communicate with her in a way she understands. You of all people should get that." Sam knew that last comment was a bit of a risk, but hey, shoe, fits, wear. Dean had been asleep recently enough that, if Sam's meaning registered at all, it probably wouldn't be until around lunch time.

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously, not yet awake enough to be certain of the insult.

"Anyway, I'm gonna take a shower. Think you can keep it together for ten minutes? Or would you rather be stuck in the car with me all day smelling like this?" He pulled off his shirt and threw it at Dean's face for emphasis, grinning.

"Dude, _gross_. Do that again and I will smother you with that thing in your sleep so your own sweaty nastiness is the last thing you ever smell."

"That seems an unlikely outcome, given Nana and now Lulu's presence as Sam's sleeping companions," Cas chimed in.

"Your . . . _face_ . . . is an unlikely outcome."

"That's it, I'm getting you one of those 'instant human, just add coffee' t-shirts and forcing you to sleep in it," Sam teased.

"I was under the impression that that was a fairly typical attempt at a witty comeback, regardless of how much coffee he's had."

"Well, yeah, but when he's in this state he can pretend like it's because he's newly awake and without caffeine, so the mockery has to relate to that."

"Oh, of course. That makes sense."

"Are you two done?" Dean broke in.

Sam and Cas smirked at him. Dean slouched out of bed and went for the coffee, pretending to ignore them. Sam went to take his shower.

. . .

It was late when they got back to the bunker—"Home sweet home" Dean said before dropping his bags in the middle of the floor and stumbling towards the reunion with his memory foam mattress that he hadn't shut up about during the last hour of the drive, and Sam found himself privately echoing the sentiment, a feeling that still surprised him—so Sam decided to save Lulu's tour for the next day, taking her straight to his room, along with Nana.

He hadn't planned on repeating the short jog with Lulu, but she was so excited and raring to go when he got up the next morning that he did it anyway, then dragged Nana out of bed for their usual long one.

Sam debated shutting Nana in his room with Lulu while he showered, but decided against it: she'd probably take enough puppy-sitting on herself as it was, if the little ways she was showing Lulu how to behave were any indication. He took Lulu to the bathroom with him instead, like he'd done with Nana her first morning.

He kept Lulu on her lead as he went to breakfast, but that didn't stop her from greeting Cas as enthusiastically as she could when they met in the hall, and being visibly distressed at not being allowed in the kitchen so she could do the same for Dean. It was one of the most noticeable personality differences between her and Nana: although both preferred Sam, Nana was politely reserved in her affection towards others, while Lulu enthusiastically wanted to be everyone's best friend.

Sam tethered Lulu just outside the kitchen so she could sit or lay next to Nana and still see everyone, and she handled it probably as well as could be expected: some straining at the leash at first, and a lot of soft whining. Sam actually had to stop Dean from tossing her bits of bacon.

"Dude, no," Sam said, reaching out to grab Dean's wrist.

"Why not, if it'll shut her up?" Dean asked around a mouthful of pancake.

"Because it'll teach her that whining gets her treats."

"Oh. Well, does she have to be right _there_ if she's going to be so sad and pathetic about it? Couldn't you leave her in your room or something?"

"Why, are you feeling sorry for her?"

"Shut up and eat your pancakes."

Sam grinned and did as Dean asked.

After breakfast, Dean went to the garage, so Sam took Lulu to the library to properly investigate whether she knew any basic commands; Cas came with him and watched the proceedings with interest. She didn't seem to know any of them yet, but she was smart and eager to please and Sam had brought a pack of lunch meat from the kitchen to use as encouragement, so he had her sitting in no time. He had Cas help him work on "come" for a few minutes as well, since that was an important one with how they lived, then stopped so Lulu wouldn't get overloaded.

"Where did you learn this?" Cas asked, once Sam had Lulu settled and was getting out his laptop and journal so he could write up the hunt they'd been on.

"What? Dog training? I, uh, I had a dog during the year that . . . that you and Dean were in purgatory. Same breed as Lulu, actually, but fully grown." Sam avoided Cas' eyes. He never knew how much Dean had gotten around to ranting to Cas about regarding Sam's year off, and sometimes he was caught off guard by what Cas didn't know. "Plus I always wanted a dog growing up, and I had a phase where I thought I might actually talk my dad into it, so I read a ton of dog training books from the library, to show that I was committed and would do everything right. Fat lot of good it did." He smiled sadly. Ten years since Dad died and he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the mix of grief and nostalgia and anger and resentment that memories of his childhood, of his father, brought on.

"I see. Sam . . . " Cas hesitated.

Sam looked up at him then.

"It's OK, Cas, you can say it. I know I let you down by not looking for you."

Cas looked taken aback. "No, that is not what I wanted to say at all. Is that . . . is that what Dean thinks?"

"Yeah, of course it is. I mean, it's the truth, isn't it?" It wasn't really a question.

"No, Sam, it isn't." Cas sank into a chair next to Sam, watching him intently. "The logical conclusion for you to draw from the events at SucroCorp was that Dean and I were dead, and that he at least was at peace in heaven. I was going to tell you that I was glad that you were able to find something that gives you good memories from that time, since I know as well as any outsider can how hard it is for you and Dean to lose each other. The only thing I do not quite understand is why you stopped checking your phones and were therefore unaware of the prophet Kevin's need of assistance."

Sam blew out his breath in a deep sigh. He was both grateful and a little thrown by Cas actually asking questions. Dean . . . well, Dean formed his opinions and, even if he asked questions afterwards, only heard answers in ways that confirmed what he'd already decided. Cas was so used to being wrong-footed that when he asked it was because he wanted to know, was still deciding. It was both gratifying and a little terrifying.

"I ditched the phones because . . . I don't know, I guess there were a lot of reasons, some rational, some less so. I was running. I was running from everything, with nothing to run towards. That was the irrational, grief-driven part. The deliberate part of it was that I didn't want to repeat my mistakes from when Dean went to hell. I was so lost, so far gone, Ruby got me all twisted around her finger so easily. I got obsessed with finding Lilith, let it consume me, let it blind me to whatever warning signs there might have been that I was too far in. And, uh . . ." Dean didn't even know this part; should he tell Cas? Oh, what the hell. "You know about what . . . what Gabriel did to me at the mystery spot, right? With the time loop?"

Cas nodded.

"Well, I remember how I was during those six months. I was a machine, doing nothing but hunting. Hunting the Trickster, other things if they happened to be convenient. Obsessed. So when you and Dean disappeared from that warehouse—died, I thought—the part of me that was still a little rational told the rest of me to get away from hunting, to just stop so that I didn't go down that rabbit hole again and take the whole world with me. So that's why I didn't get Kevin's messages."

Sam realized that there were two canine heads in his lap. Well, Nana was resting her head on his left leg, Lulu had reared up on her hind legs and planted her paws on his right and was nudging at his hand with her head. He smiled and scratched behind her ears, doing the same for Nana with his other hand.

"You really do always have the best of intentions, don't you?" Cas said, a note of wonder in his voice.

Sam laughed humorlessly. "No offense, Cas, but how the hell is that your take-away from this?"

Cas cocked his head. "How could it not be?" When Sam kept looking at him in confusion, Cas continued: "You wanted to let Dean be at peace, even though doing so hurt you. You did not want to make yourself vulnerable to the same mistakes you made in the past, even the ones for which you should not blame yourself. If those are not good intentions, I do not know what are."

Cas made it sound so simple. Made it sound like he was some kind of hero, when Sam knew that was the last thing he was. "What d'you mean, the ones I shouldn't blame myself for? I let _Lucifer_ out, Cas. I started the fucking apocalypse."

"It would have been very difficult for you not to, given the carefully engineered circumstances surrounding the final Seal. And it is not as if you were acting alone."

Sam shook his head. "Ruby was a demon, I don't think I can blame her for being what she was and being damn good at it, just myself for not seeing through her."

"Dean broke the first Seal. If he had not done so, none of the rest could have happened."

"He held out for thirty years, and he didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted the pain to stop. I can't blame him for that."

"Of course you can."

That threw Sam. "What?"

"You forget how much I know of your experiences in the Cage since I took on your pain in a too little, nearly too late attempt to set right the wrong I did when I broke your wall. Over and over, they both offered an end to your torment, if only you would hurt Adam, even just give your consent to them hurting Adam. Michael so he could prove that you truly were the abomination he needed to believe you to be, Lucifer because it amused him. But never once, in nearly two centuries of unimaginable torture, did you give in. Of course you could blame Dean. But you haven't, and you won't, because that is not who you are. Perhaps it is blasphemy to say so, but there are times when I believe you rival Christ himself in your capacity for understanding and forgiveness."

Sam stared. No, no, Cas had it all wrong. He was no saint, he just wasn't. "Cas, I _deserved_—"

"_No_," Cas interrupted vehemently. "No you did not. There may even be an argument to be made that no one deserves what they did to you, but even if there is not, I _know_ that you did not deserve it and never could. Sam, _you didn't know_. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you would have killed Lilith if you had known doing so would release Lucifer?"

"What? No, of course I wouldn't have. But I should have—"

"How? How could you have known when angels and demons alike were conspiring to keep it from you once we realized you would never deliberately unleash the Morningstar? Yes, _we_, Sam," Cas said in response to Sam's look. "I was back under their control, and _I was the one who let you out of the panic room_. Do you understand, Sam?"

Oh. Well, that explained that. Now that Cas said it, it seemed pretty damn obvious. Not that Sam had any plans to pass the information on to Dean, because Cas couldn't be blamed for what he'd done, and Dean couldn't be trusted to understand that. "It wasn't your fault, Cas," Sam said after a moment's silence.

"Perhaps. But if you believe that, I fail to see how you can continue to blame yourself for the part you played."

"Cas, I _chose_—"

"To do what you believed was necessary to save the world, despite the cost to you. Despite the belief that you would not survive it, and that even if you did, Dean might never forgive you, which was the worse fate in your eyes. Correct?"

Shit. He was grateful to Cas for saving him from death by sleep deprivation, but he wasn't comfortable with the amount of information that had transferred along with the pain of the trauma. But of course, everything he'd ever thought or felt had been used against him in the cage, so it made sense that Cas would get some access to it. Shit, shit, shit. "I guess. But Cas, you're the one who told me that you're the only person who's screwed up worse than I have, and honestly I think even that's debatable. You screwing up more, I mean."

"Sam—"

"No, just . . . just hear me out. Say you're right, say there was no way for me to avoid breaking the final Seal once I started down that path. I was the one who took the first steps, I was the one who listened to Ruby and started drinking demon blood. How does that make me anything other than what you've always said I am: an abomination?"

Nana and Lulu whined. Lulu settled when Sam, whose hands had stilled, started rubbing her ears again, but Nana continued, looking at him with canine concern.

"I used to be so sure of it all," Cas said, watching Sam and the dogs. "I knew where all the lines were, between good and evil, heaven and hell, right and wrong. Dean was the Righteous Man, therefore I should listen to him and look to him; you were hell's pawn, therefore I should tolerate you and constantly remind Dean to keep a close eye on you. Heaven was good and right, therefore what they ordered me to do was good and right. Simple, simple, simple. Except it never really was. Dean might be righteous, but that does not make him right. Hell might have tried to use you, but that didn't make you theirs. And heaven, well, were we really any better than hell, in the end? Sometimes I think it was always the demons who had true integrity: they do not shy away from, ah, calling a spade a spade. We, in the meantime, sought to dress the terrible things we did up as holy, as God's will. Even when you humans, who are more in God's image than we could ever be because of how we are each made, told us our actions were evil, were counter to what any God worthy of the name would want."

Cas was staring off into space, talking more to himself than Sam, it seemed.

"Uh, Cas, this is really interesting, and it's good that you're thinking about this stuff—very human of you—but is there a point? I mean, how does it relate to . . . what we were talking about?"

Cas blinked. "What? Oh. Yes. Well, first, it's absurd for you to think you drinking demon blood was the start of the path that led to starting the Apocalypse. That path began when Lucifer looked at humans, looked at how you were like God in ways not even he could fully fathom, and instead of loving them, viewed them with jealousy and hatred. And as for the demon blood, well, perhaps it was not such an evil as we all believed, simply because it came from demons; even if it was I lost all right to judge you for that after I worked with Crowley for two years. Perhaps it was the very need for secrecy that led to your dependence on it being so detrimental. After all, you only ever wanted to save people and stop Lilith. Worthy goals, Sam. As I said when we began this conversation, you have only ever had the best of intentions."

"You really believe that, don't you? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Cas, but you're wrong. Even if you're right about that situation, you can't tell me that when I let innocent people get hurt so I could accomplish my goals, when I let Dean get turned into a vampire _on purpose_, when I tried to kill Bobby, that I had the best of intentions. You just can't."

"But you didn't have your soul when you did those things, Sam. It is not the same."

"Yes it is," Sam insisted. So Cas didn't know that, didn't know how it felt to have a dual memory, remembering suffering in the cage and also remembering living in that strange, detached way. Remembering being pulled to pieces rather than sanction them hurting Adam, remembering throwing good people into the line of fire for the sake of finishing a hunt quickly and efficiently. And recognizing the thought patterns, the analysis that went into those choices that he had and had not made, because he still thought like that, always had. For different reasons, yes, and with different conclusions, but the thoughts were still his. Just his.

"Why? Because Dean says so?"

_Jesus_. "No. I don't know. Maybe. But more because I have that in me. The capacity to do that, to be that, it's in me, even with a soul. Even if it wasn't me, it wasn't _not_ me, either."

Cas stared at him, eyes hard. "And this is truly what you believe? No matter what I say, you will find some other example that you believe contradicts me?"

Sam shrugged. "I am what I am. I do my best to make up for my mistakes and to not make the same one twice, but I'm about as far as possible from what you were saying. I'm no saint, Cas. Look, I'm not saying that means I deserve some of the crap Dean's put me through during the last year, 'cause I didn't. But I don't deserve a pedestal, either. Far from it. I'm still the least of any of you."

"I see." And Cas abruptly got up and left, heading towards the garage.

Sam looked at the dogs. "That was weird, right?" They both wagged their tails in response, and Sam settled in to do his write-up, glad for the excuse to not think about what Cas said.

. . .

That evening, after the movie, Cas made a big show of being tired and headed to his room earlier than usual, but not before shooting Dean a meaningful look. As soon as he had disappeared down the hall, Sam turned to Dean, eyebrows raised.

Dean shook his head in exasperation and reached for another beer, offering Sam one as well, which Sam accepted.

"In case you missed it, Captain Subtlety there thinks we need to talk. And while I didn't really appreciate him spending the afternoon chewing me out about stuff he doesn't know as much about as he thinks he does, he's not wrong," Dean said after taking a pull from his beer.

Sam set his down. If this was going where he thought it was, he didn't want to add more alcohol to the equation on his end. He waited for Dean to continue.

"Sammy, you gotta know I don't blame—"

"_Bullshit_."

Dean blinked. "Dude, you didn't even let me finish."

"Didn't have to. Whatever it was you were going to claim you don't blame me for, I can guarantee that you do. And it's OK, it's not like you're wrong with most of it. Just don't pretend like you don't to try and make me feel better. No more lies, remember?"

Dean slowly, deliberately, set his beer down on the table.

"Don't tell me that I've 'got it all wrong' again, either," Sam cut in as Dean opened his mouth.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't have it wrong. I don't think you've really forgiven me for a single one of my mistakes. And, I mean, given the scope of a lot of those, that's understandable; you're not obligated to forgive me. Knowing you haven't keeps me honest, stops me from getting complacent. Whatever. But I can't . . . I can't handle thinking that you have, that we're finally moving forward, and then have the rug yanked out from under me again. I need to know where I stand with you, so don't tell me you don't blame me, that you forgive me, unless you're going to follow through."

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "Can I ask where this is coming from? You being so sure that I haven't moved on, that history isn't history?"

Sam hesitated briefly. But he had turned this into honesty hour, so he might as well go all the way. "The church."

"What?"

"Right before I started the third Trial. I told you, mostly as a way of letting you know where I was at, that I wasn't really sure how to go about confessing, where to start. And you didn't even have to think about it, you just started listing things: Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing my soul—which wasn't even my fault, by the way, though not telling you something was wrong was—not looking for you when you went to Purgatory. It was all right there, just under the surface. And before that, the things you said when you had the specter's coin, about Benny being a better brother than I ever was. And before that, when you almost gave in to Michael because you didn't believe in me, didn't trust me to do the right thing. And before that, when you never let me forget that me leaving a life I hated, that was slowly killing me, so I could go to college, was nothing but betrayal and dereliction of duty. Every time I think that 'history is history,' you bring something up again, throw it in my face, and then go on like it's nothing, like you didn't just smash a foundation I thought we were building on so that everything comes crashing down. I'm not saying forgive me, I'm not saying don't blame me, but what I am saying is be fucking honest about where you're at."

"Sam, that was like a year and a half ago. I mean, OK, I'm a jackass. But a lot's happened since then, you know? You can't—"

"Yes I can. Because every time you give me one of these 'that was then, this is now' speeches, it always turns out that, even if you thought you did at the time, you didn't really mean it. Besides, the things you said when I was curing you were just a few months ago."

"I was a _demon_, of course I said shit."

"Yeah, but being a demon just means you were a twisted-up version of yourself, that there was some part of you that thinks those things. Like I said, I'm not trying to force you to forgive me or not blame me, I'm just saying that I need you to be honest with me and with yourself about all that stuff. Can you do that?"

Dean stared at him for a long moment. The look was considering, calculating. But calculating what? Which lie to tell? _Come on, Sam, give him some credit_, part of him thought. _Yeah, because he's done so much to deserve it_ another part of him answered. _He's trying_ the first part insisted. "Yeah, sure thing, Sammy," Dean finally said, interrupting Sam's silent argument with himself. "And, uh, in the interest of honesty, you should know that after some of what Cas said to me today, I'm reconsidering my position on your year off."

Sam raised his eyebrows, the skeptical part of him winning out for the moment. "Really."

"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know, man. Everything used to be simple."

"Uh, no offense Dean, but no it didn't. You just wanted it to be so you acted like it was. Kinda part of the problem."

Dean picked up his beer and took a deep pull. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Don't say that unless you mean it."

"Right." A pause. "Hey, you wanna watch that episode of _Firefly_ where Inara gets it on with another chick?"

"Dude, you're disgusting. Like, Jayne levels. Probably worse." Sam picked up his beer. "But sure, why not." _Because this is what you do,_ the cynical part of him whispered, _act like brothers and sweep it all under the rug until the next crisis. We're not acting_ the hopeful part of him insisted.

"Hey, don't go knocking Jayne, the guy's a hero. _The hero of Canton, the man they call Jayne_," Dean sang.

Sam made a face. "If that's your takeaway, you missed, like, the entire point of that episode."

"Shut up and play the show."

Sam smirked and opened the laptop.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, entering the library after a solitary breakfast, Sam was surprised to find Dean, trawling for a case. "Already? We've only been back for a day."

"Yeah, well, I thought maybe I'd take Cas and give you and Nana and the newbie some space."

"Uh-huh. Come on, Dean, what's this really about?"

"Honestly?"

"That would be my preference, yeah."

"What you and Cas said yesterday kinda threw me. Except it also kinda didn't, and I'm pretty sure that's worse. And I think best when I'm driving, and I need to think. So, I figure, I find a case, ideally one that's at least a two-day drive from here, I take Cas as a sounding board and 'cause he can still use all the practice he can get with, you know, everything, you stay here and work on whipping Lulu into shape, everybody wins."

"Wow," Sam said after a pause. "That's got to be, like, the most mature thing you've done in . . . ever."

"Shut up."

"Ah, there's the brother I know and love."

"_Dude._"

"Yeah, yeah, no chick flick moments, I know."

Sam worked with Lulu on commands for a few minutes, then settled in to work on the day's projects.

By the afternoon, Dean had found a case in Florida, and he and Cas had left. Sam almost decided to go after all so that Cas didn't have to deal with Dean in the vicinity of beaches on his own. But at some point Cas was going to have to sink or swim, and Cas had Sam's number in case things got out of hand or he just wasn't sure what to do. Sam stopped his train of thought before he could start imagining all the potential awkward or embarrassing scenarios that might arise given the equation of Dean plus beaches plus Cas being Cas.

Sam hummed contentedly as he went to the kitchen to make dinner that evening. He put his iPod into the speakers and cranked up Of Monsters and Men, then pulled up a recipe he'd been wanting to try, the kind that brought out Dean's inner picky two-year-old with its wide variety of colorful vegetables and exotic-smelling spices. Nana and Lulu lay contentedly in the doorway, watching him move around the kitchen, chopping, measuring, sautéing, singing along with his favorite songs.

The album came to an end as Sam was pulling out the casserole dish, and he froze. Had it really been almost an hour? It didn't feel like an hour. Had he listened to every song? Could he be sure? Dean and Cas weren't here to ask, just Nana and Lulu. Would the dogs even know something was wrong if . . . Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. Sam sank to the floor, casserole dish forgotten, breathing in hitching gasps, heart racing. What the hell had he been thinking, staying here alone, no Cas no Dean to check in with, to make sure that when he spaced out from concentration that's all it was and not . . . _that_. Sam swallowed hard, fighting a wave of nausea, shoving down the fear that even if it was possession they wouldn't tell him because Dean hadn't before he'd let it happen but things were different now better now Dean understood now wouldn't do that again _he said he'd do it again_ but he didn't understand then he understands now _does he does he really how can you be sure_ fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

Something nudged his face, his hands, something made a sound that wasn't him or his skittering thoughts. Sam reached out instinctively, buried face and hands in soft fur, pulled large warm heavy body against himself. _Nana_. His breathing and heartbeat settled to nearly their normal rate, the contents of his stomach stopped trying to claw their way up and out. Nana stopped whining. Lulu, who was tethered because she was still learning that she wasn't allowed in the kitchen, did not, because she was unable to follow Nana and feel for herself that Sam was OK. He extricated himself from Nana and crawled over to Lulu, who launched herself at him, licking his face, still whining, wagging her tail so hard it seemed a miracle it didn't fly off.

"Shhh, shhh," Sam murmured, pinning her in his lap and trying to calm her down before she lost control of her bladder from excitement. "It's OK. I'm OK now, calm down." Lulu stopped trying to reach up and lick his face when he managed to roll her on her side and began rubbing her belly. Nana whined, and Sam reached out to scratch her ears with his free hand. "Thanks to you, I'm OK now," he told her. "Really."

A few more minutes of mutually reassuring petting, and he got up to finish getting his dinner in the oven. Nana resumed her position just outside the kitchen, but watched his every move and whined periodically. And Sam wasn't OK, not really. He was grateful, so grateful, that Nana and Lulu were able to bring him back from a panic attack, but it still didn't answer the question of whether they'd be able to tell if there was an angel in him, or if they'd be able to do anything about it if there was.

He tried to be rational, tried to remind himself of all the reasons that his fear was unfounded: his bedroom was angel-proofed, and he checked to make sure the symbols were unharmed every morning when he got up and every night before he went to sleep. Therefore, if he was possessed, it had to have happened between when he got up this morning and now. Unlikely, since he hadn't given conscious consent to anyone, and hadn't been injured or passed out long enough for another trick—if he had, Dean never would have left him to go on a hunt. OK. OK. And yes, he'd been alone since the early afternoon, but angels weren't like demons, they needed a yes, mockery of consent though it was.

_Unless this is all in your head_. The voice of doubt was Lucifer's, and Sam grabbed his left hand with his right and squeezed, but this wasn't that, not really, so the voice went on. _He trapped you in your head before, did all kinds of things, and you had no idea, you thought everything was fine, was normal. You thought Dean was off on a hunt and you'd stayed behind to run research. You have no way of knowing what's real. And isn't it all a little too good to be true, these last few months? Dean apologizing and really trying? Cas being your friend? Nana and now Lulu? Come on, this doesn't happen to you, not without an enormous catch. This is just the other shoe, dropping hard._

Except, no, that wasn't right. Because the last few months _were_ borderline unbelievable. And if something had wormed its way inside him and didn't want him to know, was messing with his perception, locking him out from reality, then what he was experiencing wouldn't be . . . this. Not nightly phone calls with Jody and Dean trying, really trying, and Nana warm and solid and fierce and _there_ and Cas learning humanity from the inside this time and not being half bad at it and now bouncy energetic Lulu.

Sam ran his right thumb over his left palm, lightly tracing the faded scar. "Stone number one," he murmured. Not a desperate, near-suicidal Dean in a warehouse who didn't understand and hadn't tried. No, this time stone number one was the very thing his fear tried to use against him: a brother trying, a friend learning, two beautiful dogs, and a home to come back to at the end of each hunt. _That_, he could build on. And if one of the pieces (_the brother piece _the painfully frank part of his mind whispered) crumbled, the others might still be able to hold.

He was alive, he was as close to human as he could ever be, and he was happier than he'd been in so, so long. It wasn't enough to banish the fear entirely, but it was enough to get him through putting dinner in the oven, sitting down on the floor so that Nana and Lulu could swarm him again, and getting out his phone to call Jody.

. . .

Sam walked the perimeter of his bedroom, checking the wards five times before climbing into bed that night.

And even then he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, bumping into Nana and Lulu. Every once in a while he drifted off, but was greeted by nothing but nightmares of blood and fire and grief, from which Nana dutifully woke him. Just like he used to do before she came into his life, at 5:30 he gave up and got up. However, even Lulu thought that was too early, so he checked his wards three times and went out to the library to work for a while.

At 6:15 Lulu came to find him, so he took her out for her short run, then hauled an even more reluctant than usual Nana out of bed. "Sorry, girl. I know you didn't have the most restful night, either. But hey, at least you can nap all day to make up for it."

Half an hour into what was usually a 45-minute run, a figure appeared on the road ahead of them. Sam would have assumed that he hadn't seen them because he wasn't paying close attention, except that Nana jerked to a halt and then got in front of him, snarling, hackles up.

The figure approached slowly, hands raised to shoulder level, palms out, and resolved into a woman. A familiar woman, one who Sam had never expected to see again. And who he wasn't nearly as sorry as he maybe should have been to see alive.

"Heya, Sam. Yes, the rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated, yada yada yada."

"Meg. How the _hell_ are you alive?"

She grinned. "Everyone always forgets. I've been around a long, long time, Sam. Angels still walked the earth when I first came smoking out of hell. I've got more than a few tricks up my sleeve. Faking my death for a jumped-up salesman and you and Deano was small potatoes. So is your bodyguard gonna let me approach, or what?"

"Nana, sit," Sam told her. She obediently dropped to her haunches and ceased growling, but the look she gave him could only be described as skeptical. He smiled ruefully and scratched her ears, glad there was someone there to keep him honest and watch his back.

"OK, so you faked your death. That was like a year and a half ago. Why come here now? What do you want?" Meg always wanted something. Not that he blamed her; in a way it made her easier to deal with. She didn't do false favors, and she didn't do social calls.

"And here I thought we parted friendly." She relaxed her stance, hooking her thumbs into her jeans' pockets.

"I'm not threatening you, am I?" Sam pointed out. "You know as well as anyone, this is about as friendly as it gets between me and demons."

She raised her eyebrows, cocked her head, and smiled suggestively. He grimaced. Nobody would ever let him forget Ruby, no matter which side they were on. "You know what I mean."

Meg chuckled. "Fine, we can skip the foreplay. I figure, I may not have died helping your sorry asses, but I did get hurt, and there's still the matter of me being left to Crowley's oh-so-gentle ministrations for a year and a half. So you owe me. And I'm cashing in. Crowley's consolidating his power, and it's getting harder to not get caught. I won't serve that arrogant toe rag, and I don't want to die or get stuck in one of the nastier corners of hell, either. I'm running out of options."

"And you think we can help?" She wasn't wrong, but he still didn't know what her angle was.

"Depends. Is it true you can cure a demon? Make them human?"

Sam stared. OK, that was beyond the last thing he expected. "Yes," he answered slowly.

"What about if the demon in question was never fully human in the first place?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Meg was full of surprises today, and they were coming on top of a terrible night's sleep and no coffee yet that day.

"Nephilim, dumbass. Azazel was my father in the literal, biological sense, and you know as well as I do that he's a fallen angel. Don't you remember your Genesis? 'And the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them'? Yeah, that happened."

Huh. Sam wondered whether the Men of Letters knew about this bit of angelic and demonic lore, and he just hadn't come across it yet. "Well, you were human enough to die and go to hell, so odds are that's human enough for the cure."

"'Odds are'?"

"Sorry, it's the best I can do. There are only two definite cases of the cure being successfully completed. One was just a run-of-the-mill demon, and the other was . . . call it a unique circumstance." Meg looked at Sam knowingly, and he avoided her eyes. "I got pretty close with Crowley, though, and since he's the King, that's gotta count for something, right? And it sounds to me, assuming this conversation is about what I think it is, like it's still your best offer."

"Man, you really would have made a good lawyer. I'm almost sorry we ruined it for you. Well, sorry you were so dead set on sticking to the straight and narrow that we had to, anyway," Meg said with a smile. Sam couldn't help smiling back, because at the end of the day, Meg would always be Meg, and he liked her honesty and her integrity and her fearlessness. She said what she thought, regardless of consequences, so even though just now it was a reminder of something he'd lost, Sam smiled.

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Yeah, I guess it is," she said, returning his smile with a smirk. "So lead the way back to whatever secret hideout it is that you go to when you can't be traced by means magical or infernal." She extended her hand in an "after you" gesture, bowing mockingly. He told Nana to heel and stepped forward. Meg fell in beside him.

"Is that why it took you so long to find us? Because when we're in the bunker we're shielded, and when we hunt we take hex bags?"

"Right in one, smarty-pants. But I consistently caught traces of both of you in this area, and eventually I realized it probably wasn't because you kept passing through. Speaking of both of you, you're not gonna let Deano stab me or anything, are you? I mean, he is fully defused, right?"

Sam sighed. So she did know about Dean's stint as a Knight of Hell. Naturally. "Fully defused, yeah. Also not home at the moment." He hesitated. Oh, what the hell. "He and Cas are out on a hunt."

"So Clarence is back in the good books, huh? He still owes me pizza."

Sam had a vivid flashback to a warehouse, Cas pressing Meg against a wall and kissing her, saying "I learned that from the pizza man," and came to the unfortunate conclusion that, assuming Meg stuck around, he was going to have to have the sex talk with Cas, because last year it became painfully obvious that he was lacking in all the salient details. Just great.

"Yeah, Cas is a permanent member of the team these days."

"At least until the featherbrains have their next crisis, you mean."

"Well, no, because he's not really an angel anymore." _It's not like that's confidential information_, Sam reassured himself. Sometimes Meg was too damn easy to talk to.

Meg stopped walking. "What d'you mean?"

"Long story, mostly his to tell if he wants to, but he lost his grace for good and is, for all intents and purposes, human," he informed her, stopping as well.

She whistled, long and low, and started walking again. "Wonders never cease. I guess that adds a little more appeal to the whole human gig."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Sam wondering whether he should ask what it was about Cas that fascinated her so much. "Wait, what about his meat suit?" Meg asked abruptly. "I mean, vessels still have to have the human soul stuck in there somewhere so the angels can pretend like they're better than we are. But if Cas isn't an angel anymore, where did trench coat guy go? Last I heard the rule was one human soul per body."

Sam glanced at her sidelong while focusing on keeping his breathing even. Meg was the _last_ person he wanted to talk meat suits with, and she probably knew that but she was _Meg_ so of course she asked anyway. "Why do _you_ care?"

"Curiosity," she said, stretching luxuriously and brushing her hair back with her wrist in a cat-like gesture. "And an ingrained distaste for hypocrisy of any kind, but especially from my halo-wearing cousins."

OK, he could grant her that. "Fair enough. Guy's name is—was—Jimmy. This is Cas' second brush with humanity, and he says Jimmy's been gone since the first one, almost a year and a half ago. Cas checked, before he de-haloed for good, said Jimmy's in heaven. Finally got away, poor bastard," Sam's voice softened as he finished. He spent both too much and not enough time thinking about the fates of vessels.

"So Clarence is the sole occupier of a stolen meat suit. The guy just keeps getting sexier."

Sam chose not to take the bait because _god_ he just _couldn't_, but after a brief silence she asked about Nana, which led to questions about Dean and what he'd done this time and why Sam put up with him, which led to Sam venting more than was wise considering his audience, which led to Meg offering to disembowel Dean.

"Uh, once again, why do you care? In case you've forgotten, it wasn't my first rodeo with possession, or even my second: you were. So how is this not hypocrisy?"

"Because when I did it I was being what I am. I wanted revenge, and I knew you were scared of going dark side, knew how much you valued your independence, so I used those fears against you. Dean knows those same things about you, but he still claims that putting you through that was an act of love and care. I call bullshit, and violence happens to be my favorite way of dealing with bullshit. Besides, '_you're a king and I'm a lion heart_'," she sang.

Oh for _fuck's sake_. "Uh-uh," Sam said, stopping in front of the entrance to the bunker. "You do _not_ get to ruin that song for me."

Meg smirked, and opened her mouth, probably to continue ruining one of his favorite "Of Monsters and Men" songs, so he cut her off. "OK, this is it. Before I let you in, let's go over the rules. I like you more than I probably should, but it doesn't mean I trust you, so any time I need to do something that means I can't supervise you, for instance the shower I'm going to take once we get inside, you stay in a devil's trap, and you don't fuss about it. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good."

Sam undid the ward just inside the door and led her into the bunker. _Here goes nothing._

. . .

"Something I probably shoulda mentioned," Meg said when Sam came to let her out of the dungeon after his shower, "is that I'd like to grab a different meat suit to get all squishy and human in. What with this one being kinda recognizable and all?"

Sam frowned and folded his arms. _No way in hell_. "I'm not gonna let you possess some innocent girl just to make it easier for you to go incognito."

She shrugged. "So find me one who's not so innocent."

_No such thing,_ he thought. "Still not happening," he said, turning to leave without letting her out of the trap.

She sighed in exasperation. "_Fine_. What about a coma patient or someone recently dead? You find me someone like that, I'll make it work."

He turned back. "OK. You got yourself a deal." He let her out and led her to the library.

"That one," Meg said, leaning over Sam's shoulder to point at the laptop screen, where he'd been searching for recently deceased Jane Does. Meg had chosen a probably homeless mugging victim from New Orleans, early thirties, dark brown skin and short curly hair.

"Can I ask why?" Sam asked, twisting around to look at her where she stood behind his chair.

Meg cocked her head. "Can't quite put my finger on it. I think maybe . . . I think she might look like me."

"You mean . . . when you were human? You were from Africa?"

"Well, _yeah_. What part of 'angels still walked the earth' are you not getting? Humanity was young, and that's where most of the action was, so that's where Lucifer and his people were focusing their efforts. You're smart, Sam, _please_ tell me you didn't fall for that Anglo-Saxon crap where everyone from biblical times is drawn as blond-haired blue-eyed whiteys."

Sam laughed. "I guess I never thought about it."

"Most people don't."

He looked at her calculatingly. How was it that, though she was perfectly frank and comfortable being what she was, a demon, she still managed to be so human? Maybe that was why she'd understood about . . . unicorns. Maybe it was why he couldn't seem to help liking her, even after everything she'd done.

"What?" she asked.

"It's interesting, the things you choose to care about."

"I'd take that as praise if you weren't such a goody goody. You people are a bad influence. Well, not Dean, but you and Cas."

"From you, that's quite the compliment."

"Shut up. So when do we pick up my new ride?"

"Tonight."

Meg teleported them to the morgue, Sam hacked the system so it looked like the body had been transferred, then Meg took them back to the bunker. Sam felt bad that, on the slim chance that the woman's family or friends were looking for her, they would never get closure now. But she herself, whoever she'd been, wouldn't be hurt by this, so he'd have to be satisfied with that. Meg smoked into the new body, got dressed, and helped Sam bury the old one out behind the bunker.

"You should, uh, do whatever it is you do to rest and relax," Sam told her as he escorted her to the dungeon for what remained of the night. "Tomorrow's gonna be rough."

It was strange how, no matter what face she wore, Meg's smile remained the same. "Unfortunately for me, none of my r and r activities can be done from inside a devil's trap. With one exception," she added as an afterthought, sticking her finger in her mouth and sucking it suggestively.

Sam shook his head. "See you tomorrow, Meg."

His last conscious thought before falling asleep was how odd it was that the presence of a demon in the bunker, albeit one who was a sort-of friend, was enough to keep the panic at bay.

. . .

The cure was strange and terrible and familiar and not terrible. She didn't fight him when he cuffed her to the chair as a precaution, just smirked and said "Kinky." She breathed her way through the pain, smiling and joking that it was nothing, not compared to what she'd felt, and Sam didn't push because he didn't really want to know whether the cure hurt worse than hell's tortures, didn't want to know whether the worst pain the last person shackled to this chair felt had come at his own hands.

In the hours between injections, they talked. He tried not to think about the difference between a familiar person behind a strange face and a strange person behind a familiar face, both bound in that chair with needle marks in their arms. He must not think of that; he cannot help thinking of that. Meg asked him if the Men of Letters were as much of a good ol' boys club as they sounded, pulling him out of the dangerous turn of this thoughts and back to the present. He did not think about the difference between her ranting about all the forms of patriarchy she's seen through the millennia and the brother-faced monster that confirmed all his worst fears when it sat in that chair and told him things his brother would never say but might easily believe.

No, he did not think of that at all.

The change in her was gradual. Her conversation turned more and more introspective as the hours passed. She wondered whether what she was, what she'd done, was her fault, if she ever really had a choice. But you don't go to hell without fucking some serious shit up—"trust me, I would know"—so perhaps, perhaps she cannot blame Azazel and Alistair and Lilith and all the rest. Perhaps she was accountable. Sam's participation in the conversation was no longer required, not until: "Sam?"

He looked up: "Yeah?"

"I think . . . I think maybe I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what I did to you."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Well, all of it. But I was thinking of the possession, and the things I did with your body while you screamed at me to stop. I want to say it's your fault, that if you were strong enough to beat the devil, you were strong enough to beat little old me if you really wanted to, but that's not right, is it? So I'm sorry."

She did not expect him to answer. She did not see forgiveness as her due. She did not wear his brother's face.

Another injection, more time slipping by.

"I can stay, right? I mean I've just been assuming, because you're you and 'cause Cas has a soft spot for me, but I shouldn't have, should I? I mean, I'm sure I can take care of myself, I always have, it's just—"

"Meg," he interrupted, "of course you can stay. Unless you're telling me you think you'll be a less useful ally just because you're human?" She looked so tired, he couldn't help but give her an out.

She smiled. "Way to kick a girl when she's down." A pause. "Is it time?"

He looked at his watch. "It's time."

"Last one, right?"

Sam nodded. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra." He plunged the needle in one final time, and the light came, and she gasped and writhed and he had one hand on her shoulder and one supporting the back of her head, and it was over.

Meg slowly raised her head to meet Sam's eyes where he was crouched in front of her, eyes intent on her face. "I don't know about you," she said with a weak smile, "but I could eat a moose."

Sam returned her smile. "One final check, and we'll see what we can do about that." He handed her the flask of holy water, and she drank it down and smacked her lips with a satisfied "Aah."

"Welcome to humanity," he said as he unlocked the cuffs. "I just realized: do you even _want_ to be called Meg? I mean, it was never your name, just the name of the girl you were wearing when I met you."

She stood carefully and stretched, arms reaching over her head while she raised herself to her tiptoes, braced herself on the chair and twisted, eliciting several pops from her back, then stretched again.

"Yeah, I think I'll keep it. It fits, and like you said, it's the one I took when I met you, and it was that that led me here, so that seems right, somehow."

"Fair enough." Sam caught Meg when she took a step forward and stumbled. She allowed him to support her as they made their way to the kitchen. "How does scrambled eggs with all the fixings sound?" he asked.

"Perfect."

. . .

The next day, Sam showed Meg around the bunker and took her shopping for clothes, a laptop and phone, and other necessities. They agreed on Meg's surname (Donovan) and birthday (November 4, the day before, because, as she pointed out, it really kind of was) and went to Kinkos to make her the basic fake IDs; Sam had a contact for the ones that needed to be really good, and he emailed her the information.

When they returned to the bunker late in the afternoon, Meg stretched out on the couch Dean had gotten for the library to set up her electronics while Sam worked on his research projects. At one point he heard Lulu whine, and glanced up just in time to see Meg resume rubbing Lulu's ears while she worked on her laptop. He smiled and went back to work.

He made her wash the dishes after dinner that night, they watched _V for Vendetta_, and went to bed.

When Meg had yet to make an appearance at 10 the next morning, Sam let Lulu into her room. "Aw, Jesus _fuck_ I'M GONNA KILL YOU SAM get _off_—" To Lulu's credit, she jumped down as soon as Meg said "off," but she stood with her head on the bed, staring pleadingly at Meg and waving her tail. Nana, not to be left out, joined her. Sam leaned against the door frame, chuckling.

"So what's the emergency?" Meg asked, trying to ignore the dogs.

"No emergency. But it's after 10, and we've got stuff to do." He spotted her laptop on the bedside table. "You stay up late or something?"

"Turns out _Orange is the New Black_ totally lives up to the hype. What stuff do we have to do?"

"Couch shopping for the library."

"You guys already have a couch in the library."

"Yes, but that's Dean's couch, so to avoid you two fighting over it, we're going to get another one."

"For this, he interrupts my beauty sleep," Meg groused to the dogs, giving in and scratching their heads.

Sam snorted. "There's coffee in the kitchen. I'll call them off as long as you promise to be out there drinking it within half an hour."

"I hate you."

"Half an hour," he called over his shoulder as he left, taking Nana and Lulu with him.

They took the old truck that Dean had gotten into working condition to the nearest furniture store, picked a couch, and between the two of them managed to haul it back and wrestle it into the library.

After a late lunch, as Sam was about to start a quick obedience session with Lulu—he did multiple short ones throughout the day, and put Nana through her paces, too—Meg interrupted: "I can help with that, you know."

"You know about dog obedience training?"

"I worked with the hellhounds. I was really good at it, actually. And infernal or not, a dog is a dog."

"Do I want to know what your training methods were like? Dog trainer or not, a demon is still a demon."

"True, but the hounds wouldn't be what they are if they weren't canine, and that means that, if a person can stomach it, love works better than fear. The hounds I trained loved me, and not in a Stockholm syndrome way either. Just pure doggy love and loyalty. So I'm not gonna hurt these cuties, if that's what you're worried about."

Sam reflected on the fact that both Nana and Lulu liked Meg, and that she had shown them a lot of affection over the past few days. "What the hell," he acquiesced.

"Will you teach me?" Meg asked that night as Sam pulled vegetables out of the fridge.

"Teach you what?"

"How to cook. Seems like a skill I should have."

Sam chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she asked suspiciously.

"You're human for all of two days and you're already asking for help learning practical skills like cooking. Cas has been human for months and can't do much more than make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Meg snorted. "Typical."

"Pretty much," Sam agreed. "Well, if you want to learn, wash up and we'll get started."

. . .

Sam didn't know what to think about how _easy_ it was, having Meg around. She'd been in the bunker four days, only two of them as a human, and she already seemed fully settled in. On the third day she started her own morning workout routine in the bunker's gym. She helped Sam with the dogs, and between the two of them they were able to let Lulu be off-lead, even though she still acted heartbroken about not being allowed in the kitchen when _that's where the people were and she loved the people couldn't they see_. They shared cooking and clean-up at lunch and dinner, and talked while they did. She found ways to entertain herself while Sam worked on his projects, including occasionally wandering over to peer over his shoulder and throw out random comments or insights. They watched movies in the evenings.

And Sam didn't once worry about possession or other intrusions.


	5. Chapter 5

On the evening of Meg's fifth day as a human, the bunker's other residents returned. "What the hell?" Dean and Sam chorused when Dean, Cas, and two strange dogs came into the library where Sam, Meg, Nana, and Lulu were ensconced. Sam caught Lulu's collar just in time to prevent her from running up to the new dogs to introduce herself with no thought for whether they were friendly.

"You first," they chorused again, then glared at each other.

"Fine," Dean said, as Nana paced over to investigate the newcomers. The pit bull, silver-grey with a white belly and a white stripe down his face, wagged his tail in greeting while the small dog, a black-and-white Shih Tzu mix of some sort who probably needed a haircut, got very excited and ran in circles until the two leashes were hopelessly tangled. Dean dropped his chin to his chest and sighed in exasperation.

"They belonged to one of the vics, and her wife—widow, I should say—was going to give them away because she just couldn't handle having them around. So I said, 'my brother loves dogs, we'll take them' because I'm considerate like that. The pit bull is Strider and the little dude is Gimli, because apparently the chick was a huge nerd. Now, speaking of chicks . . . ?"

"Aww, what's the matter, Deano? Don't you recognize me?"

Dean was still glaring at her in confusion, but Cas, after squinting a moment, said "Meg?" in wonder.

"Heya Clarence," Meg said, approaching.

"But . . . I do not understand. Sam said you were dead. And . . . how are you human?"

"I could ask you the same thing, featherbrain."

"Sam told you."

"Yep."

"I'm sorry, can we back up?" Dean interjected. "That's _Meg_? _Alive_? And she's _human_?"

"You know, I go without seeing you for a while, and I think I must be remembering wrong, because there's no way someone that slow on the jump could have survived in this business as long as you have, but then we meet again and, nope, I remembered right, which certainly begs a lot of questions."

"Shut up before I shut you up," Dean snapped, stepping into Meg's personal space and finding that he couldn't loom over her new, taller body nearly as well as he could with the old one. Sam, seeing that the new dogs were friendly, let go of Luna and came forward and shoved himself between Meg and Dean, and Nana growled a warning.

"Seriously? You're protecting demons now?" Dean directed at Nana, and Sam noted that he sounded betrayed.

"She's not a demon." It was Sam and Cas speaking in unison this time.

"Wow. You three should take this on the road," Meg said, folding her arms and refusing to back down from Dean's glare.

"Why don't we all take a deep breath, sit down, and I'll explain," Sam suggested before Dean could really go off.

"Fine," Dean said, dropping his bag and throwing himself into the nearest chair, tossing the leashes he was still holding to Sam. Meg sauntered over to Dean's couch—_dammit, Meg_—smiled at Cas, and patted the space next to her invitingly. Cas shot a wary look at Dean and went to join her. Sam sighed, running his free hand through his hair—the big room was feeling very crowded now that it was occupied by so many strong personalities.

He glanced down at Strider and Gimli, who were both staring up at him expectantly. "Hey, fellas," he murmured, and sat down against one of the bookshelves. They sniffed his hands, and before he knew it he was shoving them out of his face and holding in his laughter so he didn't end up with dog tongue in his mouth. "Oof," he grunted as Strider heaved his stocky body into Sam's lap and Gimli wedged himself into what shouldn't have been enough space just between Strider and Sam's torso, stepping in some tender places as he did so. Lulu, who was sprawled across Meg and Cas' laps, looked up, worried she was missing out on something, but Meg and Cas' petting soon convinced her that she was very happy where she was. Dean was scratching up and down Nana's spine and trying to mask that he was enjoying it by glaring impatiently at Sam.

"Short version? Meg found me when I was on my morning run the day after you two left, said she was tired of being on the run from Crowley and wanted the cure. I said OK, we found her a new body—a Jane Doe from New Orleans—so she wouldn't be recognizable. The next day I cured her, and she's been here ever since."

Dean blinked, frowned, and stared at the ceiling. "So . . . she's staying?"

"That's the plan, yeah."

"Uh huh. You didn't think that maybe you should check in with me and Cas before you just invited a demon who hurt Dad, possessed you, and killed our friends to move in?"

Nana growled, Sam opened his mouth, but it was Cas who said, "I believe the things I have done to both of you are at least as bad, if not worse, but there never seemed to be any question of whether I could stay. I do not understand the difference."

Meg leaned her head on her hand and smiled beatifically at Dean, who closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Point taken," he said at last. "I'm going to bed." And he shoved out of his chair and stomped off towards his room.

Sam gently pushed Strider and Gimli off his lap and scrambled to his feet, led the dogs over to Meg, and handed the leashes off. "Just for a sec, OK?" and then he turned and hurried after Dean.

He caught up just as Dean reached his bedroom. "Dean, wait!" Dean turned, his hand still on the doorknob.

"The new dogs. Strider and Gimli. I get what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, and I don't want that to get lost in all the weirdness of Meg being here. So, thank you."

Dean smiled. "Never a dull moment around here anymore, that's for sure."

Sam smiled back. "Good night, Dean. And welcome home."

When he returned to the library, he found Meg and Cas bringing in Gimli and Strider's things.

"So, what do we know about them?" Sam asked Cas.

"They are both rescue dogs, neutered, and up to date on their vaccinations. Strider is eight or nine; Gimli is three or four years old. They both know basic commands, though, according to the previous owner, Gimli treats them more like suggestions. She also said he can be wary and even hostile towards strangers, but is very affectionate once he accepts someone. Oh, and he needs to be brushed daily, and his fur doesn't stop growing, so he will need periodic haircuts from either one of us or a professional of some sort."

"Right. Well, I'm not tired yet, so I guess I'll give them a tour," Sam said, holding out his hand for the leashes.

"Works for me. I think Cas and I are gonna . . . retire," Meg said, glancing sideways at Cas, who blushed and avoided her gaze.

Sam sighed. "Um, yeah, about . . . that." A wicked grin spread over Meg's face, while Cas looked confused. "Meg, you'll make sure everything is . . . safe, right?"

"Yes, Mom, safe as houses."

"Emotionally, too," Sam pressed.

Meg sobered up. "Don't forget, I was still a demon when I took care of Cas after he fixed your head, and I was good at it. We won't do anything he isn't enthusiastic about, don't you worry."

Sam nodded, satisfied. "OK, then, you kids have fun." Meg's smirk returned, and she grabbed Cas by the hand and led the way to the bedrooms. Sam took Strider and Gimli, accompanied by an enthusiastic Lulu and a watchful Nana, on a long exploration of the parts of the bunker they were allowed in, ending back in the library where they started. He put their beds and blankets next to Nana and Lulu's, stored their food, and set out their bowls, making sure everyone had plenty of water. He sat down, intending to continue with what he'd been working on when Dean and Cas' return interrupted him. Instead, he mostly reflected on Dean, voluntarily doubling the number of dogs in the bunker, just to show Sam that he really was trying to move forward. And Meg and Cas, human now but still so very much themselves. And here he'd thought his life was strange before.

After a while he gave up on work and headed to bed, taking the dogs with him. Gimli and Strider immediately jumped on the bed, and Lulu, who had been getting the hang of waiting for Sam to settle before claiming her spot for the night, assumed a change in protocol and joined them. Sam smiled and shook his head. Once he was in his pajamas and had brushed his teeth, he told them "off!" firmly. Lulu and Strider complied, but Gimli just looked at him. "Off!" Sam repeated. Gimli wagged his tail. "Off!" Sam said, grabbing the small dog and setting him on the floor. Suggestions, indeed.

"Well," he told the four dogs who waited expectantly, "this is gonna be crowded, but I think we can make it work.

He climbed into bed. Gimli didn't wait to be given permission, and joined him immediately. To his credit, he actually jumped back down the second time Sam told him "off." Once they were all off and Sam had pulled the covers up, he gave the all clear, and then it was a mad canine scramble. It shook out to Nana in her usual sprawl on the part of the bed that, were Sam sharing with another person, they would occupy. Gimli and Lulu were curled in two furry balls between Sam's torso and Nana, and Strider was flush with Sam's legs, his head resting on Nana's back.

"Everybody comfy?" Sam asked. Four tails thumbed in affirmation. He smiled, grabbed the novel he was reading from his bedside table, and settled in.

. . .

Things were different, with Meg and four dogs, but in a lot of ways they were the same. Dean still spent the days either in the garage or browsing on his laptop; occasionally he could even be found reading novels. Sam was still working his way through the Men of Letters research, cataloging and organizing, and he still talked to Jody most evenings. Cas still alternated between helping the two of them. They still watched movies or TV shows in the evenings.

Lulu was healthy enough that Sam was back to just the one long morning run, with both her and Nana in tow. He, Meg, and sometimes Cas and Dean played at least one rousing game of fetch with all four dogs each day, both because play was important and to ensure Gimli and Strider got their exercise, too. Gimli, it transpired, was quite the sprinter, despite having the shortest legs, and he took it very personally if one of the others got to the toy he chased before he did. Sam was pretty sure Nana sometimes bodychecked Lulu so Gimli wouldn't get petulant. Strider, as both the oldest and laziest, was the slowest, and not entirely convinced of the merits of chasing toys anyway, much preferring tug of war, which he took very seriously.

Sam and Meg made sure all the dogs were put through their obedience paces at least once a day. Nana was perfect, Lulu was learning fast, and Strider knew his stuff. Gimli's level of obedience depended almost entirely on whether he felt like it: he knew the commands, but it was rare that he only needed to be told once before complying. Meg found this hilarious and would often scoop him up and rub his belly as soon as they were finished.

Meg joined the evening cooking rotation, with Sam on standby if she needed help, and forced Cas to help her, "because adult humans should know how to feed themselves, Clarence!" Dean was bemused by the whole thing.

As much as Meg enjoyed needling Dean, and vice versa, she spared them the details of the obviously sexual nature of her and Cas' relationship, setting Sam's mind at ease that she had meant it when she promised to make sure whatever she and Cas did was emotionally as well as physically safe. The first day they were all in the bunker, she asked Sam if she needed to do her own turn-down service upon vacating; since she was wearing one of Cas' shirts and little else at the time, Sam didn't feel the need to ask where she was going. He showed her the cleaning supplies, made sure she remembered where the laundry room was, and left her to it.

. . .

A week after returning from the last hunt, Dean found another one. Sam and Cas had just stumbled across a box of files full of transcriptions in Enochian buried deep in the archives, and neither wanted to lose momentum on the translation; and Sam had just made an appointment to get Lulu spayed. Meg, however: "Hell yeah. It's been way too long since I've gotten into a good fight. Kinda one of the main reasons I wanted to stick with you losers: the chance to do some righteous killing."

Sam looked up then. "Take Nana."

"There a reason that sounded like an order and not an offer?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I'd prefer it if you two didn't kill each other, and Nana's a peacekeeper."

"Fair enough," said Meg, shrugging, and went to pack her things.

Jody called the next day, after Sam dropped Lulu off at the vet for her surgery, to invite them all for Thanksgiving. "Do you have any idea what you're in for if we come?" Sam asked.

"Four dogs, two hunters, an ex-angel, an ex-demon, a surly teenager, and enough grub to put you all in food comas. Have a little faith, Sam. And what's this 'if' nonsense?"

He laughed. "Well, I'll be there, but I'll have to talk to the others. We'll let you know, OK?"

"Fine, fine. See you in a couple weeks, Sam."

That night, Cas dithered by the entryway to the library instead of going to bed at his usual time. After waiting a while for him to speak up, Sam finally asked "You need something, Cas?"

"Oh. Yes. Well. I . . . have a favor to ask. Do you think . . . might one of the dogs spend the night with me? I find I dislike sleeping alone."

"Sure, Cas, of course. It might be nice to be a little less crowded for once. Take Strider and Gimli."

"Both?"

"Yeah. Better not to split them up, I think. I'll be fine for one night."

"Right. Of course. Thank you," Cas said with a smile, and called the two dogs, who followed him eagerly, Gimli bouncing up on his hind legs until Cas scooped him up with a smile while Strider paced more sedately.

Sam found he didn't like sleeping alone at all, and was relieved to pick Lulu up the next day, although her sleeping position that night took some negotiating, thanks to the cone she had to wear.

Meg, Dean, and Nana returned in the afternoon a few days later, but before Sam had time to say hello, let alone broach the subject of Thanksgiving, Meg had pulled Cas up from his chair by his shirt and was hauling him towards their bedroom.

Sam looked at Dean, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, she wouldn't shut up about how horny she was for the last hour of the drive. It's a miracle I didn't throw up."

Sam smirked. "That karma's a real bitch, huh?"

"Shut up."

At dinner, they all agreed to go to Thanksgiving at Jody's.

"What do you mean we can't take my—I mean the—car?" Dean asked, outraged.

"You seriously think all four of us and all four of the dogs can fit in that car?"

"Well we can caravan or something!"

"Yeah, and use twice as much gas."

"So what's your suggestion, genius?"

"The van."

"Oh, _hell_ no."

"Why not?"

"'Why not?' What do you mean, 'why not'? Because it's a _van_ and we . . . we don't do vans! Not unless it's for surveillance reasons. Regular vans in non-surveillance situations are not awesome!"

"You know you sound like you're twelve, right?"

"Do not!"

"Thirteen, tops."

"Hey, captain temper-tantrum," Meg interrupted before Dean could reply. "Do the other people who will be stuck in whatever vehicle we take get a say, here?"

Dean swiveled his head around to glare at her. "Technically."

"Then I vote van."

"It does seem to be the most logical course of action," Cas chimed in.

Sam folded his arms and smirked in triumph.

"You all suck," Dean groused, shoving away from the table and making as much noise as he could as he put his dishes in the sink and stomped off to sulk.

"Twelve!" Sam and Meg called after him.

Certain relationships solidified during the two weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. Gimli and Strider continued to sleep with Cas and Meg, and Gimli, although he loved attention from anyone and everyone, attached himself to Meg in particular, to the point of near-aggression if one of the other dogs was occupying her attention when he wanted it. Meg found this endearing, and encouraged his preference for her, constantly picking him up and carrying him, and letting him in her lap nearly every time she sat down. Strider got along well with Nana and Lulu, but he still preferred to stick close to Gimli, so between them he and Gimli had more or less a monopoly on Meg and Cas. Nana scarcely left Sam's side, which meant that if Lulu wanted a human's undivided attention, she went to Dean. She, besotted with every living creature she met, saw nothing strange about this, but Dean at least pretended to be bewildered and reluctant every time it happened. At first he used the excuse of pitying her be-coned state for why he indulged her with attention; after she no longer had to wear it he claimed that it was just less of a hassle to pet her than to try to ignore her. This earned him nothing but smirks and sarcasm from the others, which only increased when they discovered he'd taught Lulu to play dead when shot with a finger gun.

Dean's smug "You're all just jealous that _I_ taught her something so much cooler than what you did" led to the beginnings of a trick war between him with Lulu and Meg with Gimli. Meg had Gimli standing on his hind legs with his paws up when told to "reach for the sky!" in no time, but it was time to go to Jody's for Thanksgiving before Dean could come up with what to teach Lulu to top that.

. . .

In addition to being the best food he'd had in he didn't know how long, Thanksgiving was really fun. Sam realized he should have predicted that Meg and Alex would get along, maybe _too_ well. And he'd seen Jody's surprised-but-pleased expression when she was able to see for herself that things with him and Dean and everyone really were going as well as he said they were. He supposed he couldn't blame her for being skeptical, all things considered.

It was late afternoon, they were all in the promised food coma, the game was on, and Dean was trying to explain the rules of football to Cas (again) over the top of Meg comparing it disparagingly to rugby, when Nana shot to her feet, hackles up, barking a warning. The other three dogs went on immediate alert while Sam, Dean, Meg, and Cas scrambled for their weapons and Jody, taking her cue from them, followed suit.

And then they heard it.

They baying of hounds on a trail.

All four of their dogs, even sweet, friendly Lulu, snarled, and Nana bayed back in challenge.

"Is that—?" Jody asked.

"Hellhounds," Dean confirmed as Sam grabbed the salt, thrusting one of the containers at Jody and sprinting for the doors and windows. But before he could reach the front door, it banged open, and something heavy knocked him against the wall, and then Nana shot past him in a blur of teeth, claws and fury, and he thought he felt another one go by, but then the other three dogs were on it, and _oh god oh god oh god his dogs were fighting hellhounds they were going to be hurt they were going to be killed the knife, the knife, where was Ruby's knife_?

"Sam!" Meg's voice rang clear, cutting across the snarling-scratching-tearing-banging of fighting dogs, and then the knife was arcing towards him across the room and he caught it on instinct, tried to gauge how to help, what he could do. He saw Gimli hanging off the ground by his mouth onto something Sam couldn't see, refusing to let go, to stop biting, Lulu flying around it in a blur, in and out with teeth and claws, and Strider fully engaged. They seemed, miraculously, to be holding their own. But Nana, Nana was fighting one all on her own, and there was blood _there was blood and some of it too much of it was Nana's_ and then a sharp whimper and Nana was tossed aside and Sam dove for the spot from which she was thrown, knife first, and he connected with something solid and somehow he was on top of it and he stabbed again and again until it stopped moving and he turned to the other one but, incredibly, he found Lulu, Strider, and Gimli stepping away from what must be the other hellhound's corpse. They all looked a little worse for wear, all had a few scratches, but nothing obviously serious. He whirled back.

She hadn't moved. There was too much blood. Oh, please, God, _no_.

He dropped to his knees next to her, murmuring, "Nana, Nana, hey girl, hey, you're gonna be OK you have to be OK that was amazing but you have to be OK," reached out, hesitant for fear of hurting her but needing to _know_, laid his hand gently over her ribs, trying to avoid touching the worst of the gashes, and after a moment that went on too long, he felt it: the slow, shallow rise and fall of her breathing. "Oh, good girl, good girl, you're gonna be OK, you're gonna be OK I'll make sure of it, good brave Nana." One of her eyes opened, just a little, and the tip of her tail twitched in acknowledgement.

And then Dean and Meg were there with a sturdy blanket and they were easing Nana onto it as gently as they could, and Jody had the van started up and ready to go outside and Cas had already loaded up the other dogs and Sam and Dean and Meg carefully carried Nana out and got her in the van and then they were racing to the nearest emergency clinic, Jody talking into the phone Alex held for her so they'd know they were coming and the severity of Nana's injuries.

The vet met them at the van when they pulled in, leading them back to where she would work on Nana and getting the info she needed. No, they didn't get a good look at the dog Nana got in a fight with, they just knew it was huge. Yes, she's up to date on her vaccinations. No, not local, visiting for Thanksgiving. Yes, the other dogs were in the fight, there were two attackers, but they're not bleeding out.

And then Sam and the others were banished to the waiting room, told to bring in the other dogs, who would be seen to when the on-call tech arrived. Sitting there with Lulu in his arms and blood on his shirt, Sam tried not to have flashbacks to three years ago, a different hurt dog, a different waiting room, and a blunt, abrasive vet with soft curly hair and a sadness in her eyes that mirrored his own.

"Sam? You with us?" Sam was jerked out of his spiraling thoughts by Dean lightly backhanding his shoulder. Dean. Here. A very important difference between now and three years ago.

"Sorry, what?" Sam said, forcing himself to focus on Dean.

"I was just saying that Nana's one tough customer. I'm sure she'll pull through fine." Like you were sure Bobby would? was a thing Sam did not say, knew he must not say, because Dean was trying, dammit, and Nana _was_ tough, and if any dog could survive taking on a hellhound single-handedly, it's her. But there was so much blood . . .

The look on Dean's face—Sam knew that look. It's the _please tell me I'm being a good big brother please tell me I'm making it better please Sammy I need to know I can make it better_ look. Sam hadn't seen that look for a long, long time. At least, even if Nana—he stopped the thought in its tracks, because Dean was right, _had_ to be right, Nana would be _fine_.

Sam gave Dean his best little-brother smile, and Dean patted him on the cheek, and yeah, Nana was going to come through this just fine, because when Dean got like this, like the guy who gave all the shits he had about Sam's wellbeing, Sam couldn't help but feel like the kid who knew for a fact his big brother hung the stars in the sky.

Meg cleared her throat, and Sam and Dean looked at her to find raised eyebrows and "Do you two need to be alone?" They both flipped her off, and she grinned and ruffled Gimli's ears.

The on-call vet tech arrived, and Sam brought each of the three only-minorly-injured dogs into the exam room one at a time to have their wounds cleaned and be given antibiotics. None of them needed stitches, fortunately, and Lulu suffered no adverse effects related to her recent surgery.

Then more waiting. Until finally, _finally_, the vet emerged. Nana was, unless something went drastically wrong during the night, going to be OK. She'd needed a lot of stitches and she'd lost a lot of blood, but she was stable now. She needed to stay the night, but would probably be ready to go home the next day.

Sam smiled and thanked her profusely while Dean clapped him on the shoulder with a "See, Sammy, what'd I tell you?"

Jody insisted on footing the bill, pointing out firmly that the attacks never would have happened if they hadn't all been at her place. Sam was inclined to agree, but he blamed himself and Dean and their presence, not Jody's lack of warding.

The adrenaline crash hit them hard and they all went straight to bed when they got back to Jody's. Perhaps sensing his increased distress, all three dogs piled into the twin bed with Sam, and he fell asleep with one arm holding Gimli against his chest, the other draped over Lulu where she curled against his torso, and a leg hooked over Strider, who was pressed against the other one.

Sam spent the next morning lavishing attention on the dogs and helping Jody clean the carpet. There were no corpses, which Meg said was because hellhounds were sentient infernal constructs that dissipated when disrupted, but there was plenty of blood, both from the hellhounds and the dogs. Dean and Meg, in the meantime, were trying to track down whoever sent the hounds, because even though they all strongly suspected Crowley, as Meg pointed out, it was better not to go after the king unless they were sure. Alex and Cas helped with the cleaning and the dogs.

Sam picked Nana up from the vet that afternoon, heavily bandaged, wearing a cone and slow and wobbly on her feet, but alive and on the mend. They stayed with Jody and Alex until Monday morning, giving Nana time to rest more comfortably than she would in the van. Sam was worried about the other dogs accidentally opening Nana's wounds at night, so Meg and Cas reclaimed Gimli and Strider and Dean let Lulu sleep with him. Jody braved the black Friday crowds and picked up some portable stairs so Nana could get into Sam's bed more or less on her own, and that was that. While Sam spent most of his time watching over Nana, Dean, Meg, and Cas were able to find the low-level demons who had sent the hounds in an attempt to curry favor and rise in the ranks. Meg stayed out of sight while Dean and Cas exorcised the demons with a warning to pass on to Crowley that this is what happened when demons tried to screw with them, and were pleasantly surprised to find the possessed humans still alive.

"Wait, you actually exorcised them instead of stabbing?" Sam asked, incredulous. The three most trigger-happy people he knew had gone for the soft option. What the hell?

"We all care about Nana, but she is your dog," Cas explained. "Therefore, we wished to handle the situation in the manner in which you would, were you not preoccupied with her care. And, as Meg reminded us, that means saving the human hosts if possible."

"Besides," Meg added, "those two are gonna wish they were dead long before Crowley's through with them. He doesn't like demons going off-book. Sweet revenge and two live humans at no extra charge, so what's not to love?"

Sam watched Dean during the whole explanation, and when they finished, asked, "Dean? You were on board with all this?"

Dean smiled lopsidedly. "It's not like we're gonna get matching WWSD tattoos or anything, but yeah, very much on board. Much as I hate to agree with Meg, well, I agree with her."

"Amazing what happens when you think before you stab," Sam said before he could stop himself. He could always blame it on stress if Dean took it badly.

Dean's smile faded, but all he said was, "Yeah," and went to go clean up.

On Monday morning, Alex went back to school, Jody went back to work, and Sam, Dean, Meg, Cas, and the dogs piled into the van to return to the bunker. Jody brushed off their thanks for the extended hospitality. "You can make it up to me in three weeks when I bring Alex for Christmas."

Sam smiled. "Deal."

It was mid-afternoon when they got back to the bunker, and after getting Nana settled in and calling the local vet to make an appointment to get her stitches removed in a couple of weeks, Sam took Lulu for a nice long run.

After he showered, he went to the library, and was surprised to find Meg and Cas in front of Meg's laptop, a few folders spread out around them.

"I thought you didn't do research," he said to Meg.

She looked up. "Special circumstances. And top secret," she added, pulling the files into her lap and closing the computer when Sam started to make his way around the table towards them. He raised his eyebrows, and turned to Cas.

"It's as she said," Cas said, avoiding Sam's eyes. "If it progresses the way we hope, we will fill you in on it. If not, there is no need for you to know."

"You can understand why, given my history with both of you, I find that the opposite of reassuring?" A little harsh, maybe, but still true.

"Hey," said Meg, lightly punching his arm. "It's been like five years since I screwed you over. A lot longer if you consider that you can't really be screwed by someone you know is an enemy. And you have to admit, I've always been a lot less naive than Clarence here."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Good point. Does Dean at least know about what you're doing?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's such a great judge of good ideas versus bad ones."

She had him there, and the look on her face said she knew it. "'Course, Cas insisted that we tell him anyway, so yeah, he knows."

"So it's not so much 'top secret' as, what, a conspiracy?"

"No, just . . . a thing. A thing that if it works will be really good, and if it doesn't, you're better off not knowing it was a possibility, OK?"

"Not reassuring, Meg."

"Suck it. Since when has 'reassuring' been part of my M.O.?"

"I'm not winning this one, am I?"

"Finally, he catches on."

"Fine," Sam said, "but I'm trusting you here." The way they both looked at him, it occurred to him that, strange as it was, they may well have been the two people on earth who best understood the significance of that trust. He grabbed his own pile of folders and took them and his laptop to the other table, and, after going over and petting Nana for a few minutes, hunkered down to work until dinner.


	6. Chapter 6

They all settled back into their routines. "Don't get used to this," Sam told Nana when he got up to take Lulu for their morning run the next day, rubbing Nana's ears. "As soon as you're well, your sleeping in days are over." He paused. "And don't even think about picking a fight with a hellhound just to get out of morning runs." She wagged her tail.

Other than Cas and Meg working on their "top secret project," things were back to the strange normal they'd all established in the two weeks prior to Thanksgiving. Everyone had their work and their ways to relax, everyone helped with the dogs and traded off on cooking and cleaning and other chores around the bunker.

Sam wondered if this was what normal families were like: disparate personalities with few common interests but plenty of shared experiences, weaving their way around each other, converging and diverging, days full of little spats and little moments of shared understanding, inside jokes and teasing, just going about the business of living. Going to sleep in the same bed every night, knowing all these people would still be there to maneuver around the next morning. _And wouldn't it be nice if it was always like that_.

But of course, it wasn't, and Sam wasn't surprised when, a week later, Dean announced that he'd found a case in Montana, so who wanted to hit the road? Sam made Dean wait until he could make some calls, check whether anyone closer was available, but no such luck. Cas decided to go.

Sam didn't want to ask Meg to stay, but _god_ did he hope she would because he had the dogs and Nana's appointment to get her stitches out was in a few days and _no thanks_ to another panic attack or several about whether he was still steering his own meat suit.

"Meg? Feeling bloodthirsty?" Dean asked.

Sam couldn't be sure, but he thought her eyes flicked to him and then away.

"Surprisingly, no. Besides, somebody needs to keep working on the thing."

"Right. The thing. OK, see you crazy kids in a week, probably."

Once they left, Sam smiled gratefully at Meg. "Thanks."

"Why Sam, I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, and walked away whistling "King and Lionheart." He shook his head fondly.

. . .

A few days later, Sam had just finished helping Nana out of the car on their return from her appointment to get her stitches removed, when he heard the door to the tunnel out of the garage open. He whirled as Nana barked, but what he saw through the open door wasn't the tunnel: it was a well-lit room, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, through which could be seen a bustling city and a road paved with yellow bricks.

Sam grinned, but he didn't relax completely, because there were three people coming through the door. He and Nana made their way towards the newcomers. "Charlie? Dorothy? That you?" he called.

The tallest figure pulled the doors closed and ducked into an alcove. "Who else would it be, dumbass?" Charlie called

Sam let Nana take the lead, just to be sure, but after a cursory sniff she wagged her tail, let Charlie and Dorothy pet her briefly, then proceeded to the alcove where the unknown third person hovered, mostly in shadow. Sam nodded to Dorothy and let Charlie pull him into a hug, grinning.

"Long time, no see," he said.

"No kidding! What's the date, anyway?"

"December 13, 2014. Sound about right, or are we talking Narnian differences in the passage of time?"

"No, sounds about right. And hey, we're just in time for Christmas! Also, you got a dog."

"Four, actually, though Nana was the first of them."

The person in the alcove made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Yeah, about that," said Charlie. "As you probably saw, we brought someone else back with us. And I promise I did all the tests I could, and there's like no way she could be anyone or anything other than who she looks like and who she says she is, so just don't, like, keel over or anything."

Sam's eyebrows climbed further and further up his forehead as Charlie babbled. But then the person stepped out of the alcove, Nana pressed affectionately against her side, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Not possible not real not here no no no no hallucinating the hallucinations were back or worse it was Lucifer Lucifer was out of the cage this wasn't possible couldn't be couldn't be why was Nana just standing there didn't she _know_ Nana always knew and even this garage was warded so maybe just maybe it really was . . .

"Jess," he whispered her name, almost a prayer, daring to hope.

She smiled softly, but even that was like the sun coming out for the first time in nine years, one month, and eleven days. "Hey lost boy."

Oh god it was really her. That nickname, that story, that was theirs and theirs only, they'd never told anyone. He could see the tension in her, the way she was holding herself too still, resisting the urge to make the first move. Letting him come to her. She'd always known when she needed to let him make the move, needed to wait for him. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, his eyes on her face: smiling mouth and wide, hopeful eyes full of love (she wouldn't feel that way if she _knew_). He stopped, forced himself to keep looking at her face, looking her in the eyes. What had Charlie told her? Not everything, not near everything, not if she was still looking at him like that.

"Jess, I . . . " Where could he possibly begin? Jess, do you remember how you died on the ceiling, and that's not normal? Well, guess what.

"Sam." She says his name insistently, needing his attention. He gives it to her. "You think there are things I don't know, and you're right, but not as right as you think. Where I was . . . as best as we can figure out, it was heaven adjacent, more or less. And I could see you. From the moment I landed there, I could see you. I could see other things, too, if I wanted, but mostly I didn't, because I wanted to understand, and I wanted to help, and if I couldn't help, then I would watch. Bear witness, because you deserved at least that. I watched you right up until the night you stopped the third trial. Dean—who I owe about five hundred punches to the balls, by the way—got you outside, had you leaning against the car, and then everything went blank, and I couldn't see you anymore. I got desperate then, and, I don't know, just pushed really hard at the borders of the place, and ended up in Oz. Eventually I met up with Charlie and Dorothy, and here we are. I know everything, Sam, everything from when I died until that moment when, I now know thanks to Charlie, heaven was closed and the angels fell. I know it all, and I love you just as much as I did then, maybe more. And I get that it's been a long time, and it's OK if you've moved on, but I need you to know that, OK?"

Moved on? As if he could ever . . . And because Nana was standing there wagging her tail, and Charlie and Dorothy were smiling, and Sam was letting himself hope and trust again, he stumbled forward, closing the distance between them, and then there was nothing but _Jess Jess Jess_.

Jess in his arms, pulled tight against him. Jess' arms around him, one of her hands pressed against his back, the other in his hair. She smelled just the same. Well, not quite, because of course they didn't have that shampoo and body wash she liked in Oz, but that Jess smell that was always underneath those scents was the same. His face was buried in her shoulder and he was crying; there was a growing dampness on his shoulder. He pulled back just a little, just enough to see her face, and she looked at him and their foreheads were pressed together and one of his hands was on her cheek and she was leaning into it and smiling through her tears like the sun coming out, and he felt himself doing the same.

"Hi," he said, finding his voice.

"Hi," she said back, laughing.

"Missed you. Love you," he said, wondering if she'd remember the sweet little note she left on the last plate of cookies she ever made.

"Right back at you," she said, and he felt her reach into the pocket of his jeans.

"Jess?"

She pulled her hand out, held it up, one finger extended, the thimble sitting on it, then laid the hand with the thimble against his cheek, eyes sparkling with a question.

"Always," he whispered, and they were kissing, and the rest of the world disappeared because his hands were in her hair and on her face and her hands were in his hair and on his neck and _the taste of her_ and _god she's really here the dreams were never this good_ and _Jess Jess Jess Jess_.

Sam neither knew nor cared how much time had passed when they were interrupted by multiple dogs frisking around them, begging for attention. His brain was a little slow figuring out the implications of Lulu, Gimli, and Strider's presence, but then he realized that Meg must have let them in. He turned, rotating both his and Jess' bodies so they wouldn't have to loosen their embrace, and sure enough, there was Meg, arms folded, eyebrows raised, smirk firmly in place.

"Talk about wasted effort," she said.

Sam's eyebrows came together in confusion.

"That is Jessica Moore, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Secret project, dumb dumb. As a very powerful fallen angel, Azazel had access to some places in the heavenly zip code where he was able to stash people he killed if for some reason he wanted to keep them somewhat accessible but couldn't get them to hell. Since I'm all human and wishy-washy these days, it occurred to me that you might like it if it turned out that's where she was and there was a way to get her out, so that's what Cas and I have been working on. All for nothing, as it turns out. Mazel tov." And she spun around and went back inside.

"OK, who was that?" Charlie asked.

Sam sighed. "Meg."

"Wait, as in the demon?"

"The demon Crowley killed?" Jess added.

"That's the one," Sam confirmed. "Except she hasn't been a demon since I cured her a little over a month ago. At her own request, I might add."

Dorothy whistled. "Guess we're not the only ones with some stories to tell. Speaking of which, we gonna stand in the garage all day or actually go somewhere with chairs and maybe even some grub?"

"Oh, god, sorry! Yeah, of course—" Sam broke off when he saw her grin.

"Sorry, couldn't resist. I'm happy for you two, really."

"Thanks," Sam said. "Going inside really is a good idea, though, so, uh, let's do that."

He and Jess led the way, each keeping an arm around the other, and Dorothy and Charlie fell in behind them, the dogs ranging all around.

"So are you gonna introduce the canine contingent, or what? You said the big one who is clearly still recovering from a serious ass-kicking was Nana, but what about the other three?" Charlie asked.

"Right. The hyper Australian shepherd is Lulu, the pit bull is Strider, and the little guy, who you want to be cautious with because he can be a little slow to warm up to people, is Gimli."

"Nice!"

"Wish I could take credit, but Nana is the only one I named."

"Still."

They got inside, and Sam paused and turned. "So, if you want to get cleaned up and changed before anything else, Charlie, we put your stuff in the room you stayed in last time, and Dorothy, I can show you where we stashed yours. Or we can go to the library and . . ." he became aware of the smell of tuna. " . . . wait for Meg to finish making lunch and then eat."

"Why don't you check whether she's actually cooking for the group, then see what the ETA is so Charlie and Dorothy know whether cleaning up before lunch is still an option, time-wise," Jess suggested.

Sam smiled at her. "Good idea. Coming?"

"You have to ask?"

"We'll wait in the library," Charlie said as Sam and Jess headed for the kitchen.

"What?" Meg asked as soon as they appeared.

"Couple of questions," Sam said. "First, are you just planning on eating leftovers for a while, or . . . ?"

"Of course this is for general consumption. Next question."

"Do the returning adventurers have time to get cleaned up before it's ready?"

"As long as cleaning up isn't a euphemism for other, more interesting activities, I'd say yeah.

"Do you want any help?"

"Not from anyone who's currently making uncontrollable heart eyes at anyone else."

Sam grinned. "Copy that."

They found Charlie laying on one of the couches in the library with her head in Dorothy's lap; Lulu, in turn, was sprawled across Charlie. Sam grinned. "If I'd been crass enough to bet on a friend's love life, Dean would owe me fifty bucks."

Jess gently shoved Sam onto the other couch and sat in his lap. Gimli and Strider immediately jumped up and demanded attention, and Nana sat on the floor right next to them.

"So what's the word?" Charlie asked.

"Meg is making food for everyone, and you have enough time to get cleaned up, as long as, and I'm quoting here, cleaning up isn't a euphemism for other activities."

Charlie and Dorothy grinned. "I think I'm going to like this Meg, even if she did used to be a demon," Dorothy said. "What do you think, Red?"

"I think I'm comfy," Charlie said.

"Guess we'll stay where we are, then," Dorothy said.

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Jess leaned against Sam's chest, and he rested his cheek on her head. _She was really here_.

Sam had his arms around Jess, and his hands were resting near Nana's head, so she nudged them until he began fondling her ears. Jess was already using one hand to pet Gimli and the other to pet Strider. "So, what's the story with the dogs? Who are _perfect_, by the way. Especially Nana."

He grinned. "You don't know the half of it."

Informing the three women about Nana and Lulu segued into explaining about Meg, so that by the time he'd told them about Dean bringing Gimli and Strider home and the fight with the hellhounds at Thanksgiving, Meg had emerged from the kitchen and was standing in the doorway, arms folded, waiting not so patiently for Sam to finish.

"You people want food, or what?"

Despite her brusqueness, Meg had set the table and had everything nicely laid out. She'd made salad and sandwiches, half of which were tuna melts and half grilled ham and cheese. They all dug in gratefully.

"I called Dean and Cas," Meg said as everyone started to finish up. Sam paused, staring at her. She shrugged. "I figured they should know. Cas and I were trying to get Jess—"

"Jessica," Jess and Sam corrected.

Meg raised her eyebrows. "OK, Jessica then. Cas and I were trying to get her here anyway, Charlie and Dorothy are your friends, and goody goody gumdrops, it's almost Christmas."

"Fair enough," Sam acquiesced. "They say how the hunt's going?"

"They're still trying to figure out whether it's a shifter or a skinwalker, but other than that it's run of the mill."

Sam nodded.

"So Sam," Charlie cut in. "Care to fill us in on the goings-on since Dorothy and I saw you last?"

Jess must have felt him tense—it made sense, they were sitting pressed up against each other—because she began rubbing soothing circles on his back. Meg watched him, her expression unreadable. He took a deep breath. "Uh, sure. Yeah. Why not."

As briefly and succinctly as he could, Sam explained about his coma, Ezekiel-who-was-really-Gadreel, Cas, Crowley, the Mark, Abaddon, Metatron, the civil wars in heaven and hell and their resolutions. He told them that Dean was a demon because of the Mark, but that with Cas' help he'd cured him and removed the Mark. He explained about that being the low point, that with Jody and Nana's help, things had gotten a lot better, were still getting better. The whole time he spoke, he looked at the table, where he was playing with Jess' hands. When he finished, he looked up, and found them staring at him in horror, except for Meg, who looked satisfied. Sam resolved to find out what that was about later.

Jess broke the stunned silence. "Remember how I said I owed Dean five hundred punches to the balls? I'm upping that to something like ten thousand."

"I'll hold his arms for you," Dorothy chimed in.

"There's always the castration without anesthetic option if you're planning to do that much damage anyway," Meg said matter-of-factly. "Not as drawn out, sure, but exquisitely more painful. Don't look at me like that," she added when Sam stared at her in disbelief. "I was offering to disembowel him for what he did to you while I was still a demon, remember?"

"But . . . I don't understand," Charlie said at last. "How could Dean do that? _How could he_? The Dean I know . . . he couldn't, he _wouldn't _. . ."

"This is the part where you have to realize that either you didn't know Dean like you thought you did, or that you willfully ignored the signs, because what that jackass did was completely in character," Meg told her bluntly.

"Meg!" Sam snapped; Charlie looked like she was on the verge of tears. He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. "Charlie, look at me." She did, and she looked so much like a child seeking reassurance, so much like the little sister he couldn't help but think of her as. "You're not the only one who spent a long time not seeing that Dean could be that way, or else convincing yourself that it wasn't really like that. I wanted to believe, for a long time made myself believe, that Dean wouldn't do something like that. Then he did, and I had to face reality and figure out how to deal with it. And remember, you're hearing about everything all at once, but it all happened over a period of time. And he's better now; he gets it now. Or at least, he's well on his way," Sam added when Meg made a derisive noise. "And hey, at least one truly good thing came out of the Gadreel situation."

She sniffed. "What's that?"

"You're alive."

She smiled faintly. "Wow. You're, like, impossible."

Sam smiled back, choosing not to ask for clarification. "So I've been told."

Meg shoved back from the table. "Well, that's about all the angst I'm prepared to deal with for one day. I made the food, which makes cleaning up the mess somebody else's job." With that, she left, heading in the direction of the gym with Lulu, Gimli, and Strider trailing hopefully after her.

"We'll clean," Dorothy offered. "I'm sure you and Jessica have more catching up you'd like to do."

"Thanks," Sam and Jess chorused.

"Do you want me to show you where your stuff is first?" Sam asked Dorothy.

"You said it's in one of the lockers, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm sure I can find it."

"OK. Uh, it should be pretty self-explanatory where everything goes, but if you aren't sure you can go ahead and leave it out and I'll show you later. Oh, and feel free to put on music if you want—the speakers are there," he pointed, "Charlie knows how to work them."

"Thanks."

Sam and Jess retreated to Sam's room; Nana followed them.

They both hesitated after Sam closed the door, still loosely holding hands. Nana climbed up and sprawled along the middle of the bed, looking up expectantly. Smiling, they went and sat on either side of her, petting her.

"This is weird, isn't it?" Jess asked eventually. "Me being here all of a sudden."

"Well, yeah," Sam answered. "But it's almost like the weirdest part is that it _isn't_ weird, you know? I mean, it shouldn't be this easy, right?"

Jess smiled. "I have a theory about that." Sam raised his eyebrows, signaling her to continue. "Sometimes, we meet people, and they just click. It doesn't matter how long we go without seeing them, once we're with them again, it's easy to pick the rhythm of the relationship right back up. You and Dean are like that, to a certain extent. And remember when my friend Marci came to visit, and you couldn't believe that we hadn't talked for years?"

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling at the memory. "So, you think we have that?"

"Don't we?" she asked. "Isn't that why the weirdest thing about being together again after nearly a decade is that it isn't weird?"

"Maybe," Sam conceded. "But Jess, I'm not . . . I'm never going to go back to being that naïve, hopeful college boy you fell in love with."

"And I don't want you to!" Jess exclaimed, covering one of Sam's hands with one of hers. "And, OK, I might slip up and act like that's what I want sometimes, at least at first, but I know that's wrong and unhelpful and you can tell me if I do. Fair?"

"Fair," Sam said, watching their hands. Jess suddenly withdrew hers, and he looked up at her, eyebrows coming together in confusion.

"Oh god, I just realized! I've been in your space this whole time, and I never even checked if that was OK! Sam, I'm so sorry! I—" he cut her off with a finger to her lips, and left his hand on her face after she stopped talking.

"First, you did too check that it was OK, back in the garage. You let me initiate everything. Second, let me make it clear now that you have permanent carte blanche for all the kinds of touching you've been doing today. Unless I specifically tell you that I need space for a little while, you should assume that not only is you invading my space OK, it's wanted. Clear?"

"Clear," she said, leaning against his hand.

Nana decided that they had taken a long enough break from petting her and nudged at their hands. They laughed and resumed with one hand each while reaching out and clasping the others.

After a few moments, Sam recognized Jess' pensive look. "What is it?" he asked.

"I just—you said back in the garage that you still love me, and I believe you, I do. But I can't help but wonder whether you would feel that way if the way we were separated hadn't been so tied up in everything, you know? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love you and I want to be with you, but I don't want you to be with me if it's just because you feel obligated or guilty and that's where you still loving me comes from."

"Oh, Jess, _no_," Sam said, reaching for her again. "That isn't it at all. You said you saw everything after you died. Does that include when I went to the park after your funeral? And what I said there?"

"Yeah," she answered slowly.

"Then you know," he said, gaze intense, "that you were supposed to be it for me. I still love you because loving you for the rest of my life was the plan, was what was right and what I wanted, and that didn't change when you died. I'm sorry if I'm coming on too strong—"

"No, it's OK. More than OK," she said, reaching out to sweep the hair that had fallen forward into his eyes out of his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, what now?" Sam asked after a brief silence.

"Snuggles?" Jess suggested.

"Sounds perfect," Sam answered, kicked off his shoes, and shoved his pillow to the middle of the bed.

They coaxed Nana to the foot of the bed and lay down, faces less than an inch apart, arms around each other and legs tangled.

"So," Jess said, "this is happening."

"I still can't quite believe it's real," Sam said, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Me neither," she said, squeezing him.

"Can I ask . . . I need to know . . . " a part of him had been wondering ever since she said she'd seen _everything_ until the angels fell, but he didn't know if he could bring himself to ask, to put it into words.

"Sam, what is it? What's wrong?"

He sighed and ducked his head. "I was just wondering. When you said you saw everything—"

"Well, obviously there were times when I averted my eyes, but I'm not jealous or upset or anything, if that's what you're worried about. I liked Sarah and Madison and Amelia, and even that doctor, Cara. And sure, you broke a lot of social norms when you were soulless, but I don't fault you for those people, either, because it might have been you, but it wasn't _all_ of you, and you still stuck to the 'consenting adults' rule, so as far as I'm concerned, no harm no foul."

Sam could feel himself blushing as he continued to avoid her gaze; he hadn't even considered _that_. "Oh. Um, that's not . . . I mean I'm glad you're not upset about them . . . "

"How could I be; I was _dead_. It's good that you tried, it's good that you found some happiness, even if it didn't last."

He looked at her then in amazement. "What?" she asked.

"You're a miracle, you know that? I mean it's not just that I don't deserve you, it's that I don't think _anyone_ deserves you," he told her.

"Stop it," she said, swatting him playfully. He just smiled. "Wait, if you weren't going to ask me about the other relationships you've had, then what did you want to know?"

He took a deep breath. "Could you see the cage?"

"Oh. No, baby, I couldn't."

Sam released the breath he'd been holding in a relieved sigh. "Good. That's good." But she was looking at him sorrowfully. "Jess, it's a _good_ thing. I wouldn't want anyone, least of all you, to see—"

"But you lived it, Sam. And I just wish . . . "

"What?"

"I wish I could have borne witness. You deserved to have someone who cares about you know what happened, be there with you in spirit, _something_. You deserved at least that."

"No I didn't," he told her honestly. "I let Lucifer out, and so many people were hurt and killed because of that, so the way I see it, I pretty much deserved what I got."

"No. Stop. I'm gonna say something, and then we're gonna save the rest of this conversation for later, because I don't want to argue right now. You let Lucifer out because you were tricked, and you didn't do it alone. You never could've broken the last seal if Dean hadn't broken the first one. And you never _would_ have killed Lilith if you'd known what would happen. End of story. And honestly, Sam, even if you were as culpable as you think you are, you wouldn't have deserved the cage. You just wouldn't have. And you and me are gonna have a lot of long talks until you believe that. Just not right now, OK?"

"OK." A pause. "Hey Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Love you, too, lost boy," she said with a smile.

"Not lost anymore."

She kissed him softly on the lips. After a while Sam felt himself drifting towards sleep and shook himself, trying to stay awake.

"It's OK if you want to sleep," she told him. "I think there have even been studies that show that falling asleep together makes people feel closer—something about brain chemistry. So it might actually help dissipate the weirdness if we took a nap."

"Promise you'll still be here when I wake up?" he asked drowsily.

"Promise," she whispered, and they fell asleep not long after that.

Sam woke up a couple of hours later. At first he was hesitant to open his eyes, because if he did then the incredible dream he'd been having, the one where Jess was alive and here and they'd fallen asleep together and he could still feel her in his arms, would finish dissipating. Except that he was becoming more awake, and the feeling of holding her was growing stronger instead of fading. He opened his eyes, and there she was. It was real. Her mouth was open and she was drooling on the pillow and it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Her eyes fluttered open a few minutes later. "Hey," she said sleepily.

"Hey."

"You watching me sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Creeper."

He laughed and rolled over, pulling her with him so she lay on top of him. Nana grunted indignantly and climbed down off the bed. Jess kissed Sam and he kissed her back enthusiastically, one hand tangling in her hair, the other reaching under her shirt to stroke the smooth skin of her back. He realized he was feeling things he hadn't felt in, god, _years_. He _wanted_ her, wanted to get lost in her, for them to get lost in each other, nothing between them. He wanted the closeness and the pleasure and _her_.

Sam rolled them over again so he was on top, and Jess gasped with delighted surprise. He trailed kisses down her face and onto her neck, but she went still. He stopped and pulled back so he could see her face. "Jess? Is something wrong?"

She reached up and brushed his hair out of his face. "You don't have to do this. It's OK. I don't expect anything."

Right. Because she knew. She knew that it was different for him since the cage, that there had only been Amelia, and even that had been a stretch. "Honestly, I'm surprised, too. Maybe it's because it's you, and everything we had was from when my life was good and hopeful, I don't know. All I know is I _want_ this. I mean, it's OK if you don't—" She cut him off by pulling him down and kissing him _hard_, biting his lower lip and reaching up to help him off with his shirt.

. . .

By the time they managed to drag themselves out of bed and put their clothes back on, it was late afternoon. They found Charlie and Dorothy in the library watching _Star Trek: The Original Series_ on Netflix.

"Wow, you didn't waste any time," Sam commented.

"Shush," was the only response he got.

"Aye aye, Captain," he said with a salute, and led Jess into the kitchen, which was spotless.

"Want to help me make dinner, or just watch me work?" he asked.

"I'd better help," she told him, grinning wickedly. "If I just watch, I might not be able to keep my hands off you, and then you'd be distracted and dinner would be ruined and it would be all my fault."

"Your logic, as always, is impeccable," he said, and began pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

"So," Charlie said at dinner, between large bites of nachos, "I've noticed a serious lack of Christmas decorations around here, given that it's in less than two weeks. We should do something about that."

"Agreed," said Jess, "and Dorothy and I need to go clothes shopping."

"So it's settled. Shopping trip tomorrow!"

Sam smiled and shook his head. "I'm not gonna try to argue with you two on this, but please be aware that, to do the kind of shopping you probably have in mind, we'll need to go at least to Hastings, which is about an hour away."

"No problemo! We'll make a day of it," Charlie said brightly. "What about you, Meg, got any shopping to do?"

"Thanks, but I think I'll sit this one out," Meg answered evenly.

"Your loss, dude."

"Uh-huh."

While Meg cleaned up, Sam informed the other women about the movie night tradition.

"Great!" Charlie enthused. "Dorothy's pop culture education needs all the help it can get!"

"Well, then, I think it's pretty obvious what we have to start with," Sam said.

"It is?"

Sam and Jess exchanged a glance, then said "_The Princess Bride_."

"Genius!" said Charlie.

A thought struck Sam. "Hey, Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"You haven't spoiled _Star Wars_ for her, have you?"

"Uh, I don't think so. Why?"

"Think about it. It'll come to you."

Charlie looked confused for a moment, then realization struck. "_Oh my god._ OH MY GOD! SAM! OH MY GOD!"

"We should wait until Dean and Cas are back, and Jody and Alex are here for Christmas. Such a historic event deserves as big an audience as we can muster."

"OK, what am I missing here?" Jess asked as they made their way to the living room.

Sam leaned in to whisper in her ear: "Dorothy is quite possibly the only adult in America who doesn't know that Darth Vader is Luke's father."

"_Oh my god_. You really are a genius!"

They all chatted until Meg joined them, then started the movie.

. . .

Much to Lulu's chagrin, Sam skipped his run the next morning, unwilling to leave Jess for that long. "Sorry, girl," he murmured, petting Lulu. "Just for today, OK?"

"What's all the fuss about?" Jess asked sleepily.

"I go running in the mornings, and Lulu, and Nana when she's healthy, come with me as their main form of exercise. But you don't have clothes or shoes for running yet, so I'm staying in today. Nana doesn't mind because she's not a morning person, but Lulu does, because she is."

"Poor thing," Jess said.

Lulu, realizing that both the humans were awake, scrambled over Sam to squeeze herself between them, demanding attention.

"I'm still not clear about how she and Nana the giant both managed to sleep on the bed with us," Jess said, rubbing Lulu's tummy.

"Pure canine determination, I think," Sam said, scratching Lulu's ears.

"Do you think Nana will hold it against me that I'm permanently taking over what was once her spot on the bed?"

Sam glanced down at Nana, sprawled at the foot of the bed. "I don't think so. She seems to take a lot of her cues from me, and I very much want you there," he said, leaning over Lulu to kiss Jess.

She smiled. "I'll take it."

After breakfast Sam, Jess, Charlie, and Dorothy piled into Sam's preferred car and headed out for a day of shopping.

They returned that evening with an artificial tree, loads of lights and other decorations, various discreetly-purchased Christmas presents, starter wardrobes and phones for Jess and Dorothy, and take-out.

Most of the next day was devoted to decorating the bunker. Charlie, they learned, had bought garish Christmas sweaters for everyone, including the dogs, and insisted that they wear them during the decorating process; not even Meg was able to resist. By dinner that night, there was an elaborately decorated tree in the library, and strings of twinkle lights, fake holly, Santas and Santa hats, stockings, fake mistletoe, and snow globes absolutely everywhere.

They all agreed that they had _earned_ the spiked eggnog they enjoyed after dinner that night.

Dean and Cas returned late the following afternoon.

"What the ever-loving fuck?" were the first words out of Dean's mouth when he took in the decorations.

"Merry Christmas!" Charlie crowed, bouncing up to give him a hug. Sam caught Dean's eye and shrugged helplessly. Dean shook his head. In the meantime, Meg had gotten up and pulled Cas into a deep, passionate kiss.

Dean cleared his throat, and Meg and Cas broke apart. "Guess we better do introductions, huh?" Dean said when Charlie let him go. "Cas, this is Charlie, that's Dorothy, and that's Jessica. Ladies, this is Cas." There were nods and brief greetings all around. Cas turned to head towards his and Meg's room, but Meg pulled him to a halt.

"Are we waiting for something?" Cas asked, confused.

"Kinda, yeah," Meg said, smiling sweetly.

"So, Jessica. Welcome back to the land of the living. Should we shake hands or hug or something?" Dean asked, smiling lopsidedly.

Jess got up, walked up to him, and slammed her knee into his groin. Dean crumpled to the floor. "Or something," she said, smiling back. Sam winced in sympathy.

"OK, we can go now," Meg said, grinning.

"I don't understand," Sam heard Cas say.

"I'll explain later," Meg responded.

"You got it out of your system now?" Sam asked Jess.

"Not remotely, but it'll have to do."

"What the hell was that for," Dean gasped.

"Think about the way you've treated Sam for the past as long as you've known him, I'm sure it'll come to you," Jess said sharply.

"Oh," he said, "that. For the record, I've apologized and have been assured that I'm improving."

"Yeah, I've heard that. Keep in mind that I'll believe it when I actually see it."

"You are officially worse than Nana."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jess said, and went to get Dean the ice pack that she, apparently, had prepared in anticipation of the occasion.

Seven people and four dogs made the bunker feel, not full, exactly, because it was so big, but decidedly occupied. Sam loved it; it was a little like college: everyone with their own schedules and habits, shared communal spaces but also private spaces to retreat to if needed. The addition of Jess, Charlie, and Dorothy brought slight adjustments to the routine, but ultimately everything settled back to basically how it was, just with more people around.

Jody and Alex arrived the Monday before Christmas. Jess had spent the two days prior in a baking frenzy, so by the time they came the kitchen was amply stocked with all kinds of cookies and fudge and other sweets, much of it gingerbread or peppermint flavored.

Wrapped presents addressed to the bunker's various occupants began to appear under the tree and, fortunately, the dogs only had to be told once to "Leave it!" after which they left the gifts undisturbed. Charlie's sweater purchases, it transpired, had included Jody and Alex, and they, like everyone else, were powerless before Charlie's stubborn Christmas cheer.

Dean, Sam, Jess, and Charlie had made a list of every significant Christmas movie they could think of and then developed a time-table and a watching order, with the original _Star Wars_ trilogy interspersed between the holiday flicks, so that no one day was over-saturated with a particular genre. Alex declared them all nuts, but agreed to sit through the movies when she was promised junk food and given permission to heckle.

They talked, ate, watched the movies, and played tabletop games. Charlie rigged up the laptops for a Halo tournament, but it got so competitive that Jess and Alex joined forces to implement a ban; Super Smash Brothers quickly joined Halo as forbidden, but Mario Kart turned out to be intense but manageable.

And then it was Christmas morning. Jess and Charlie, it transpired, had bought stocking stuffers for everyone, and Jody had brought some as well, so all the stockings were bulging with items from candy and razors to ammo and crucifixes.

Jess made cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and then they opened the gifts from under the tree, with Alex playing Santa. Highlights included the vegetarian cookbook Dean received from Jody and Alex, the _Song of Ice and Fire_ hardbacks Charlie gave Sam and Jess, and Gimli's frenzied sprinting through all the wrapping paper.

Jess sat in Sam's lap the whole time, and was the only one who knew the exact reason that his favorite gift was the battered old copy of _The Hobbit_ she'd found for him, the same edition as the one he'd owned when they were together, but that had been lost to the fire with most of their possessions.

Everyone pitched in to clean up all the wrapping paper and then those on cooking duty for Christmas dinner got to work. They had everything: turkey, ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, the works. By the time the meal was over, everyone was so stuffed that they took pity on the clean-up crew and agreed they could leave the mess until the food coma wore off.

They spent the afternoon and evening watching the last of the chosen Christmas movies and enjoying their gifts, and everyone went to bed tired and happy.

As much as Charlie wanted to leave the decorations up longer, she was overruled by those that pointed out that they should take advantage of the extra help afforded by Jody and Alex, so the decorations came down the next day.

Jody and Alex left the day after that, and aside from the leftovers that were, miraculously, still in the refrigerator, everything went back to normal (whatever that was) almost immediately.

Sam was in the library showing Jess his current research and organization projects when it hit him. _This was his life now_. He got to spend most of his time doing the part of hunting he'd always enjoyed most: research. He had four dogs, all currently asleep in a tangled pile in the library. He had friends he saw and talked to every day. Things with Dean were good and still getting better. And Jess. Jess had come back to him.

"Sam!"

"What? Oh, sorry. I guess I spaced out for a minute, there."

"I'll say. What's going on in there?" she asked, tapping his temple

He smiled, grabbed her hand, and kissed her palm. "I was just wondering if this is really my life, _how_ this can possibly be my life. It's too good, you know?"

"Silly lost boy. Nothing is too good for you," and she pulled him into a kiss.

Sam knew that he had perfectly good arguments for why she was wrong, but at the moment he couldn't for the life of him remember what they were.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back.


End file.
